From the McCarty Files: The Poisoned Cup
by javamomma0921
Summary: A FGB short story for HMonster4. Emmett is a PI with a history. Rose is accused of murder and comes to him for his help. Can he solve the mystery of the Poisoned Cup?
1. Cyanide

**From the McCarty Files:**

**The Poisoned Cup**

_A FGB offerning for HMonster4_

* * *

_Chicago, 1930_

"So give it to me one more time, beautiful," I say, holding out the cigarette case to her.

"Are you trying to waste my time, or are you simply incompetent?" she asks.

She reaches out a perfectly manicured hand and takes a fag. She holds it between her lips and looks at me expectantly, so I push the matches across the desk at her. She keeps staring at me, so I cock an eyebrow at her and then look away as the peon at her side lights the fag for her.

"Look lady, you came to me," I say, standing up. "Now give it to me one more time or get out."

"My husband was murdered three nights ago," she says, drawing deeply on the cigarette before continuing. "We had dined at my in-laws' estate earlier in the evening and returned to the house around a quarter to nine. Royce still had work to do and I was exhausted so I retired for the evening. At approximately three in the morning, I awoke with a splitting headache and found Royce's side of the bed empty. This was odd; as a rule, Royce never worked past eleven. I went down to his study and that's where I found him. I rang the police immediately."

She shrugs her shoulders delicately and looks up at me. It's damn near perfect. I mean, she repeated herself almost word for word. She might think this is a good thing, but now I'm suspicious.

"So, Mrs. King," I say.

"Ms. Hale," she corrects me and then immediately looks away. "Mrs. King is my mother-in-law."

"You and Mr. King were tight?" I ask, leaning against the desk so I can look into her eyes better.

"We were married, you idiot. What do you think?"

"I'm trying to get a full picture here. Your marriage was fine? No problems?"

"My husband was a monster, Mr. McCarty," she says coldly, flicking the ash from her cigarette in agitation.

"Ms. Hale," the peon says, fluttering his hands in the air like a ninny. "As your attorney I must remind you…"

"Shut up, Newton," she says icily. "I don't pay you to talk…now. Besides, Mr. McCarty is in my employ as well. It's in my best interest to be up front with him."

"I'm not in your employ yet, Ms. Hale," I say quickly.

"But you will be."

Her tone is sure and cocky and it makes my gut crawl. This dame is used to getting her way.

"Right," I say, rolling my eyes for effect. "'Cause money talks. You were saying about your dearly departed spouse?"

"I won't blow smoke up your ass, Mr. McCarty. I grew to hate my husband after we were married and it became clear that his only use for me was an adornment for his arm. It was a marriage of convenience; and frankly, I wasn't finding it very convenient any longer. He was brute and a tyrant."

"So did you off him?" I ask bluntly.

The peon lawyer gets all flustered and starts sputtering about his client's rights. Blondie and I both tell him to can it at the same time. She looks up at me and smirks so pretty I almost forget she's accused of murder. But then her eyes turn to ice again.

"No, I did not 'off' him. Though I won't say I'm sorry that someone did." Her voice is flat, passionless, like she's got nothing left.

"Did you hire someone to kill him?" I ask, my voice a bit softer now.

"No."

"I just don't understand, Ms. Hale," I said, raising my hands in the air. "You've got all this money to your name. You could easily buy your trial. Why are you here? What do you want from me?"

"I suppose you're right," she says, stubbing out the spent fag and smiling angrily. "I _could_ buy the trial; it would be easy. But getting off isn't going to solve my problem, now is it?"

"How do you mean?"

"_Someone_ killed Royce," she says, and I hear it for the first time. The dame is leaking fear. "And whoever he is, he's still roaming the streets of Rochester. Now that my name's been in all the papers, he might come back for me if he isn't caught."

She stands now, her hard blue eyes softening as she looks up at me. I begin to understand why the broad is used to getting her way. It's damn near sinful what's she doing to me just looking so helpless like that.

"Won't you help me, Mr. McCarty?"

I want to say no, but she's owned me since she walked in the door. This case and this doll are screaming trouble at me, but she's right about one thing: her money certainly has a way with words.

"Yeah, darlin'," I say finally. "I'll take the case."

"Fine," she says, suddenly all business again. The change is immediate and it leaves me reeling. She throws a file folder on the table. "Those are the official police reports; you might find them useful. Newton, give him your card and mine while you're at it. Inside the folder you'll find your first payment. You'll get the remainder when the case is closed."

"Where did you get this?" I ask as I flip through the file folder, slipping the wad of cash into my top drawer. "How did you get a hand on this file?"

"It doesn't matter," she said firmly. "Now be a good detective and don't show that to the asinine police force. They don't need another reason to want to lock me up."

She turns and sashays toward the door, her swaying hips drawing my attention as she walks away from me. She turns, flipping her hair over her shoulder and looks haughtily at me.

"The trial's in two months. If you wrap it up before then, there'll be a bonus for you."

She walks out the door, leaving the sniveling lawyer standing there rummaging through his briefcase to find the cards he needs.

"Please direct any inquiries to me," he says in his nasal voice. "I do not want to see my client's name sullied."

"You mean any more than it already has been, what with the murder rap and all," I say, taking the card from his trembling hand. "Where's Ms. Hale's card?"

He pushes his glasses up his nose and puffs out his chest a bit. His head reaches almost to my shoulders now and he squints as he tries not to look up my nose.

"If you wish to speak to R—Ms. Hale, you will go through me."

"Rose?" I ask, laughing. "You think if you get her acquitted she's going to bone you? She's using you, just like she's using me, fancy pants."

He splutters, almost dropping his briefcase. I reach down and grab it quickly, plucking out a card with elegant writing on it and an embossed red rose.

"Seriously, Mike, is it?" I ask.

He nods and tries to reach for the card, but I hold it out of his reach.

"Don't mess with my investigation, punk. You do your job, which seems to be everything from driving Ms. Hale around to lighting her ciggies. And I'll do mine, which is clearing her name. Are we clear?"

He splutters again, this time with less feeling and drops his hands at his side, resigned to taking orders again. I feel bad for the poor sap. He's probably got more brains in his noggin than most fellas, but he's got no backbone to speak of. He thanks me and then walks out of my office, leaving me shaking my head.

The police file is complete, which shocks the hell out of me. I expected to find a bastardized copy with all of the important things missing. Instead, I find the detailed carbon copied notes and sketches of one E.A.M.

"Talk to me, E.A.M. Tell me what you know," I mumble, leafing through the splotchy papers.

He's a meticulous SOB, that's for sure. Reading his notes gives me a full picture of the crime scene, complete with sketches of the fatal injuries and a list of likely weapons. As Ms. Hale, Rosie as I like to think of her, told me earlier, Royce was killed in his study. The body was sprawled across the floor and there was no sign of bodily injury. A tea cup lay broken beside the body and the contents had spilled on the rug. The features of the body were distorted and E.A.M. noted that it was likely a "painful" death. I note that E.A.M. likes to make assumptions.

I turn the page and I am amazed to see an original crime scene photo. The palms must have been greased but good for Rosie to get her hands on this. I have no love for the department, but even I know they don't let stuff like this slip out to murder suspects and their private dicks. This is either a monumental screw up or a monumental payoff; either way, Rosie was right to ask me to dummy up about it. Anyone of those officious screwballs at the department catch wind of me having this and they'll railroad her _and_ me as quick as look at us. Yeah, the ol' department has always been good at that.

I rub my hands over my face angrily as I remember just how easily those impatient bulls at the department ran me up the river when they had no more use for me. My methods have always been…deliberate. Some called me slow, but I always got my man. And I prided myself on always getting the _right_ man. The young bucks that came out of the academy were all about their fancy profiles. As long as a suspect fit the _profile_ they were ready to bring him in and throw the book at him. They never bothered to pound the pavement; they didn't even bother to make contacts. They said my "friends in low places" were unnecessary and turned their pasty white noses up at those contacts I'd spent my career building up.

I gather up the scattered police report and tuck it under my arm. There's nothing more I can do here tonight so I lock up the office and head out to the street. Trash litters the ground and I nearly stumble over all the bums lining the back alley I'm walking down. There but for the grace of God go I, I always remind myself. After the great crash last year, I couldn't help thinking that maybe I was lucky after all that the department kicked me out when it did. Now, I get all my payments up front and in cold, hard cash. I've never had much use for banks myself and the crash only proved me right. Still, my "brotherhood's" rejection stings fiercely.

I knew the boot was coming long before the Evenson case came in; that was just the nail in my coffin. Pretty Esme Platt Evenson, with her bruised and battered face and her frightened eyes, was so easy to love. I just wanted protect that woman, something her husband clearly never did. One look at her and I knew that lady wasn't a killer, but damn if those boys at the station weren't all in a hurry to lock her up and throw away the key.

"_You're a damn fool, Crowley!" I bellow at the tall cop looking back at me with a cocky smirk. "That lady couldn't kill a fly let alone her husband. Look what he did to her face, for God's sake."_

"_Exactly," he says. "That's precisely why she fits the profile, Emmett my friend. She's a battered woman who finally had enough. She snapped. It's not that I don't feel bad for her, but she's still guilty as sin."_

_Mrs. Evenson is still locked in our own small jail cell. I look over at her, knowing she can hear every word we're saying about her. She doesn't move. She sits there worrying her skirt over and over and looking up at the corner of the jail cell. I notice that her lips are moving, but no sound is coming out._

_I walk over closer to her. Her wide, petrified eyes roll in her head until she is looking at me in pure fear. I look back at Crowley angrily, but he just shrugs his shoulders. She fits the profile; he's not looking at anything else._

"_Hey, honey, I'm not gonna hurt you," I say as quietly as I can. "I just want to ask you some questions."_

_No one has been able to get her to talk. We found her kneeling over the shards of a broken tea cup next to her her dead husband's body. She was shaking her head and saying "I'm sorry" over and over again. Everyone assumed she was apologizing for killing him, but I wasn't convinced._

She never answered me; she started screaming when I pulled my chair up to the bars and sat down with her. She was scared stiff of every man in the place. It was kind of a comfort to me knowing that she was now in a women's prison; there wouldn't be any men there to bother her.

Her case has always haunted me. And it's not only because I got kicked off the force because of her case. I never believed that she was a murderer and I worked every angle of that case looking for a lead that led away from Esme Evenson. After awhile, it was all I was doing. I didn't care. No one listened to me anymore anyway. I figured I was doing something useful for someone and I was out of my superior's hair for a while. Of course they didn't see it like that.

"_McCarty, the chief wants you in his office," Crowley says with a smirk._

_I wonder what it is. As I walk there, I hope that he's found out something that will help with my investigation. It's a blind hope; I know this. And still I'm obsessed with the idea that I might get that poor woman out of jail somehow. I don't know why she matters so much; maybe because I know it's the only time in my career I've someone who's innocent has been sent away on my watch._

They canned me that day; said the force was growing and I wasn't showing a "willingness to grow with them." It was all bullshit and I saw that for sure when the chief lost his temper with me.

"_You've been wasting the department resources for too long with that ridiculous pipe dream of yours! And for what? A filthy murderess? You know I like you, son, but you…you're just not right here anymore."_

I left that day and not one of the blokes who used to call me brother ever once called to see how I was making out. None of them ever bothered. As for me, I've never looked back…much.

I wake up after only a couple hours of sleep; Rosie's case is starting to get to me. I was up until nearly three in the morning reading and rereading the case files. Stumbling out of the bathroom, I bring the files over to my bed and lay them out so I can look through them again. E.A.M.'s interview with Rose is very—enlightening—and I immediately pull it out. I keep looking for traces of the woman whose forceful personality had taken over my office and cannot find her in the carbon-copied transcription of the conversation.

She told E.A.M. pretty much what she told me, but she left out a few key points. When asked about her marriage, Rosie lied through her teeth.

**E.A.M: Please tell me about your marriage.**

**R.H.K: Royce was just the best husband a girl could ask for. What more could I want? He bought me anything I wanted.**

I can almost hear her sarcasm, and apparently so could E.A.M. He notes it in one of his asides. _Suspect shows signs of disdain and sarcasm when discussing the deceased. She shows classic signs of being abused though there are no overt bruises on her skin. She fits the profile for a battered wife seeking retribution._

"Did you wait till you were back in the office to judge her or did you do it in front of her?" I mumble.

I am beginning to really dislike E.A.M. I hate people who take the easy way out, and that's just what this cop is doing. Investigating Royce's murder would mean actual work; clearly, E.A.M. is content with fitting a suspect into a profile and calling it a day.

I toss the interview aside and reach for the detailed inventory of the crime scene. My eyes keep being drawn to the broken tea cup. I remember that the responding officer noted there are no signs of trauma on the body; it makes me suspicious about the cause of death. I begin flipping quickly through the file, searching for a coroner's report but come up empty. _Damn_. The stiffs in the morgue were never known for their speed. Guess I'll be making a trip there today as well as paying Ms. Hale a visit at home. I add Jas's "Tea" House in Tower Town to my mental lists of stops for the day and begin getting dressed.

Honestly, the prospect of spending a day out on the street greasing palms and pumping people for answers excites me. I've been spending too much time in that stuffy office or holed up somewhere doing surveillance detail on a cheating husband. This is a challenge and I'm more than ready to get it started. But first, I need breakfast.

The bell jingles as I walk into Leah's corner coffee shop and I hang my fedora on a hook by the door. The smells assault me immediately: frying grease, hot coffee, and burnt toast. I walk up to the counter and smile at the pretty, young waitress balancing three plates precariously in her hand.

"Be right with you, sir," she says, frazzled.

I nod and whistle lowly as she walks by me. Her skirt is high and her legs are long; I might be coming to Leah's more often now that this pretty thing would be here.

"Don't get your hopes up, big guy," a familiar voice croons at me. "She's already got a daddy. One of those fancy pants police officers you're so fond of."

_Damn_.

"Thanks for the tip, Leah," I say, turning around to face her. She's heading back to the grill and smirking at me as she goes.

"What'll you have?" Leah calls over the half wall.

I take one last appreciative look at the waitress's fine backside and look at Leah's amused eyes. I shrug, dismissing her silent accusations, and then smile.

"I'll have the usual, Leah. How's business?"

She rolls her eyes and looks around the dining area. It's not filled as much as it used to be before the crash, but there's a generous amount of regular patrons here, even if most of them are only taking coffee. They're still here and that says something about them _and_ Leah.

"How's _your_ business?" she asks as she cracks some eggs for me. "Anything I need to know?"

Crime is a very real part of people's lives right now and since I often get wind of things before the locals, I try to keep my friends informed. But whatever is going on with Rosie and her dearly departed husband wasn't likely to affect these folk.

"On a murder," I say quietly. "No one special."

Leah understands that this means it _is_ someone special and she won't be getting any more details out of me. She nods curtly and goes about fixing my breakfast. Leah's good like that. She's no gossip and only really cares if it affects her or her people. She knows I'd tell her if it did.

As I'm waiting for my breakfast, a uniform walks into the place. Bronze hair slicked and combed back underneath his shiny brimmed hat. His badge looks as though it's been spit and polished so that it sparkles in the sunlight. When he walks in, the pretty brown-haired waitress drops a glass of orange juice and he chuckles.

He sits two stools over from me at the counter and looks me up and down as he does. I'm used to it. A built man, dressed professionally; I look made. So I turn in my stool and smile at him.

"Good morning, officer," I say, extending my hand to him. "Name's Emmett McCarty. I don't believe I've seen you around here before."

He stares at my hand for a few seconds before reaching out tentatively to take it. His hands are clammy.

"Detective Masen," he says finally. "Edward Masen."

_E.M_., I think to myself. As he's leaning back to his seat, I check out his name plate above his badge: _Edward A. Masen_. _Hot damn!_ It's the officious author of the reports that are lying on the counter next to me. Only years of training keep me from darting my eyes over at them and rousing his suspicions.

"Pleasure to meet you, Detective," I say. "First time at Leah's?"

"No, I come often to see my girl," he says, looking over at the shy waitress who is staring at him and blushing furiously. "You come here a lot?"

"As often as I can. No one makes breakfast like Leah!"

Leah sets my plate down in front of me and snorts at my compliment.

"Yours'll be up in a minute, Ed," Leah says and nods to him.

"Edward," he mumbles quietly, but Leah hears him.

"Sorry, _Edward_." She walks back to the grill, rolling her eyes at me as she goes and I have to stifle a laugh in my napkin.

I eat in silence and think about what this information can buy me. E.A.M, _Edward_, comes here often. It's possible that could work to my advantage. I could get to know him and pump him for information…but did I want his answers? I'd already seen the way his little mind jumped to conclusions; did I need more of his conclusions clouding my judgment as I went forward with this case? Nope. Not in the least.

I finish my breakfast and fish a sizable tip out of my pocket for both the waitress and Leah. The number of bills I plunk down on the counter doesn't go unnoticed by Detective Masen; he gives me another look over before he hunches over his toast and eggs.

"It was good to meet you, Detective," I say as I get up. "Always good to know the local law enforcement."

He nods and grunts over his breakfast. The pretty waitress is fluttering around him and pouring more coffee in his half-full cup.

"Bella, honey, I'm fine," he whispers and gives her a genuine smile.

He seems like he treats her okay, but he still rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it's the notes he wrote; maybe it's just that he's a cop and I'm programmed to hate them. Either way, I'm ready to blow this joint and be on my way.

"Have a good day, Mr. McCarty," Edward says as I reach the door.

He's looking at me again, as if he's trying to commit my face to memory. The pretty waitress named Bella is looking at me suspiciously and I have to sigh. So judgmental. I shake my head and pop my fedora on my head as I walk back out into the biting Chicago wind. I need to stop at the office and call the morgue and Ms. Hale so that they know I'll be around today.

Jas's Tea House is tucked in a row of unassuming brownstone fronted stores in Tower Town. He doesn't open until mid-afternoon, but I know that he and Alice are somewhere inside. I'm unsurprised to see Alice's swaying skirt and happy face greet me on my first knock. _This_ is a woman whose intuition and assumptions I trust. I'd never tell the other PIs I know, but I'd used the services of Jas's psychic wife on a couple of cases. She never steered me wrong either.

"Come for another reading, Em?" she asks pleasantly as she lets me into the dark room.

They've dressed the place up to look Mediterranean and exotic, with gauze and beads dripping from the ceilings. It isn't my type of joint, but they do a fairly good business so I guess that the bohemian crowd like it well enough.

"No, darling," I say, kissing her cheek. "I need to talk to Jas if he's around."

"Right here, Em," Jas says as he emerges from one of the back rooms holding some waxed paper with odd brown shavings on it.

Jas and Alice sell the finest tea in the city. What his upscale patrons don't know is that Jas probably knows more about poison than he does about tea. He had been my go-to man when I had a question about poison since I was a newbie on the force. I don't have anything other than the position of the body, but I am certain that Jas can narrow it down for me considerably. I'll at least know if the spooks at the morgue are pulling the wool over my eyes when I talk to them.

"What's the case this time?" he asks, gesturing for me to follow him into his private room.

This room always gives me the willies when I step into it. On one wall are bags and jars of imported tea. They sit up there, scenting the room with their strange and exotic perfumes. Just across the room is a locked glass case with a white skull and crossbones painted on it; it's Jas's collection of poisons.

"Murder," I say, sidling up to his table. "You mixing tea or something else?"

I sniff cautiously at what he's dumping in his mixing bowl.

"If I wasn't mixing tea, you probably wouldn't want to sniff it," he says, chuckling. "Who was murdered?"

"A real big cheese. His wife is accused of the murder and she came to me to clear her name."

"You think she's innocent?" he asks.

I hadn't really thought about that up until now. I'd been very busy poking holes in the shoddy detective work I'd seen in the police report, but I hadn't given much thought about whether I believed Rosie's story or not. The easy answer is of course I believe she's innocent; that's what she pays me for. But that's not what Jas is asking and I know it.

"Yeah," I say sighing. "I'm almost positive she's innocent. But there's a ton of evidence that says she's guilty, so…"

"Right. What do you need from me?"

"I have some pictures to show you along with some written descriptions. I want your impression."

I slide the pertinent documents over at him and wait as he fishes out his large glasses to look them over. Alice stands silently beside him, looking at them just as intently. As much as I want to ask Alice what she thinks, I know it's best to let her take the lead.

"A broken tea cup was found next to the body and there weren't any signs of trauma on the body. It's likely some sort of poison that did him in and I need your opinion on what kind."

"So…where's the sample?"

"I don't have one."

"Of course you don't." He sighs deeply and then looks back at the pictures. "These are fair quality pictures at best and I obviously can't tell the color of the residue in the cup. However, if you can give me a cause of death, I can probably narrow it down for you. If you give me a sample of the poison, I can probably nail it for you."

"I have a meeting at the morgue today and I'm going over to the deceased's residence after that. I'll see what I can do."

Alice has been standing quietly throughout this exchange. She looks up and her eyes go glassy so I know what's coming. Jasper does too and he puts down his mixing bowl and turns to face her.

"You're right—the wife didn't kill him, but I can't see who did. It's a shadowy figure, not someone the deceased knew. It's very strange."

Alice closes her eyes and brings her fingertips to her temples. She's not really giving me much to go on, but I know her well enough to know I shouldn't interrupt. Her eyes open and they are clear again; she's back in the here and now.

"This is going to be a big case for you," she says with a smile. "I can't see the details, but I can tell this is the one you've been waiting for."

I wait, hoping she's got more for me but she just looks back at me with the same smile on her face.

"That's all you've got for me, honey? Are you sure?"

I came here not really wanting to use Alice; I wanted to use my contacts and work the street, but I wasn't going to ask for Alice's psychic advice. But suddenly I'm dying for more, something to go on to save me a little bit of chasing my tail.

"I'm sorry, Em," she says, reaching over and touching my arm. "You know I'd love to help you, but I can't see anything about this case."

"It's okay, Alice," I say, nodding as I speak. "You guys are only the first of many stops for me today. I should have lots more answers tonight."

Jasper walks me out through the dining area and stops me as I'm about to walk through the door.

"You're looking for a pretty rare poison," he says quietly.

"Why do you say that?"

I take out my notebook, ready to jot down what he has to say.

"This fella looks fairly healthy, apart from the fact that he's not breathing. He doesn't look like he's been poisoned over a long period time. There're precious few poisons that people can slip into a drink like tea and kill someone quickly like this; at least not ones that are readily available."

"You sold anything recently?"

He looks at me for a moment, arms crossed and eyes squinted slightly. I sigh and reach into my back pocket, pulling out one of the C notes I have reserved for greasing palms. I snap the money in front of him.

"Talk," I say with a frown.

He snaps the money out of my hand and tucks it into one of his pockets.

"I have a few receipts that might be of interest," he says. "Come back tonight. I'll have them ready for you."

"Right…so you have any fuzz activity lately?"

"Not a peep," he says. "You're the only one who ever picks my brain, Em, you know that."

"Yeah," I mumble, turning to walk out the door. "I'll be back tonight. Maybe I'll have something more for you then."

I walk out into the bright daylight that does nothing to warm the January air. It makes me a little bitter that I had to drop a C note on Jas; but I understand that by revealing his clients, he could lose a lot of money. It's only fair I compensate him. I still have a few hundred left from what Rosie gave me for "expenses." I make a note to try and palm any samples I can from the morgue for Jas to check out.

As I walk to my car, I find myself replaying Alice's words: _this is the one you've been waiting for_. Alice and Jas knew about Esme and what happened to me because of it. They also knew I never forgot about her. So when Alice said that, she knew what she was talking about. I wonder as I walk toward my car whether this really is the big one or whether Alice was giving me a lead without meaning to. Was this just my chance to show up the cops or did this case hold the key to clearing Esme Evenson?

* * *

**_A/N: I know, right? Emmett. It's out of my comfort zone, but when HMonster gave me the challenge, I just couldn't resist. I really hope you're pleased with the first installment, babe. Thanks for taking a chance on me! Anyone have any guesses or pick up on any clues? I can't wait to hear all of the theories! I've never written mystery before so you'll have to let me know as the story progresses how I'm doing. ;) ~Jen_**


	2. Hemlock

I drive to the other side of town and park in back of the morgue. I used to spend a lot of time here, especially in my last days on the force. Dr. Cullen was a huge help in my investigation of the Evenson murder. I wonder briefly if he's still here. He had always been one of the good guys; he never took the easy way out and I don't think he ever stopped believing in Esme Evenson's innocence.

I walk into the brightly lit hallway, the smell of formaldehyde and bleach hitting my nose like a sledgehammer. The hall is deserted which isn't unusual for this building. Most of the work takes place in the stainless steel bowels of the building.

I take the steps quickly down to the morgue level and meet Gianna at the desk. My five year absence hasn't done anything to her; she's still got the long red hair, killer green eyes, and skin the color of caramel.

"Gianna," I say, running my finger along the edge of the desk. "I'm happy to see you here. How've you been, gorgeous?"

Her red lips purse and curl up into a hard smile.

"Look what the cat dragged in," she purrs, standing up and walking around her desk. "Back in the saddle, Em?"

"Never really got out, doll. I've been working as a PI."

She looks me up and down and then crosses her arms across her ample chest. She leans back against the desk and starts shaking her head.

"You know we don't deal with that type here," she says. "No badge; no questions."

"But I got a badge, baby," I say, pulling out my bronze PI badge. "It's just not the color you're used to."

She sneers at me and continues to shake her head.

"Not good enough and you know it."

I move my fingers slightly and let the bill peek out from under the badge. Her green eyes sparkle and widen, making me smile. Gianna never could turn down an easy bribe. It's only a fifty, too.

"That, on the other hand, is always good here. Who you investigating, anyway?"

"I'm on the King case," I say, sliding the bill into her palm and running my fingers across the back of her hand, making her smile. "You know who's working that?"

"Of course," she says, sliding closer to me. "It's your old friend, Dr. Cullen."

"So Dr. C is still here?" I say, looking past her at the swinging metal doors with their round, glass windows. "Is he on now? Can I see him?"

"Settle down, big boy," she says, putting a hand in the middle of my chest.

I look down at her and she's looking up at me, batting her emerald eyes and smiling. Bring out a little cash and she's all over me. _Great_. She's a fine looking doll, but she's not my type. I suddenly feel terrible for making her think she was. I take her tiny hand in mine and remove it from my chest.

"Not that I'm not flattered, baby, but I'm on a tight deadline here. Is the doc around?"

She pouts, crossing her arms again and I worry that I'm going to have to bring out more cash. Just then, she jerks her thumb over her shoulder at the metal doors.

"He's in there," she says sullenly.

I start walking past her and then turn around.

"Sorry, Gianna," I say softly. "It's just…I'm not…."

"I know," she says with a shy smile. "You're no cake-eater…you're a good guy. That's just my luck."

She laughs bitterly and returns to her desk. I stand there for a couple seconds, not sure what to say to her.

"Just go in, Em," she says quietly. "I understand better than you know."

I look down uncomfortably and shuffle away from her. She hasn't changed much; she used to hit on me before when I'd come to the morgue in uniform. I'd hoped she would have been married by now.

When I open the swinging metal door, I'm again assaulted with new smells. These are even more offensive than the straight formaldehyde and sanitizer. Here, the smell of death can't be masked. It permeates the room and turns your stomach with its stench. I bring my hankie to my nose as I walk through the doors into the frigid air. I remember from before—I just need to give myself a few minutes to adjust.

The room is lined with wooden boxes that looked like they're stacked on top of each other. I recognize them as the large refrigerators that hold the bodies. I wonder if Royce is still here, but figure that his family could afford to grease the works a bit and get his autopsy moved through quickly.

Dr. C is there, buzzing between two bodies which are lying on the marble slabs. He is making notes in the files that he has laid haphazardly on his podium. I clear my throat and he looks up, startled.

"Officer McCarty," he says quietly, a smile forming on his face.

"Just Emmett, doc," I say through the handkerchief. I pull off my fedora and hang it on a chair by the door. "How are you?"

"Good, good! I…it's been quite a while," he says. "What can I do for you, son?"

"I have some questions…."

He holds up his hand and looks away with a sad smile.

"Emmett, you know that I can't…it's not that I agree with what they did; you know I don't. But I've sworn an oath…I can't speak with you about any open cases."

I reach my hand around to my back pocket and he makes an angry noise in his throat.

"You know I won't take your bribe money, so don't insult me by taking it out."

He frowns at me and I pull my hands out of my pocket.

"It's important," I say.

"I'm sure it is, but it's also unethical," he replies. "What case are you working?"

"The King case," I say, slowly bringing my handkerchief down and testing myself. I'm good. "I was hired by Rosalie Hale-King."

Dr. C brings his hand to his chin and rubs it thoughtfully. I can almost see the wheels turning in his head as he strips the gloves off of his hands and throws them on top of one of the bodies. He walks over to his file cabinet and starts flipping through it. In spite of myself, my stomach does a little flip-flop; maybe he's decided to help me.

"I thought of you when that body came in," he says distractedly. "Almost immediately…as soon as I saw the crime scene photos, in fact."

"I'm…flattered. Why'd you do that, doc?"

"Because," he says, looking up. "His death was very similar to the last case we worked on together."

My heart stops for a second and Alice's words from this morning come back to me again: _I can't see the details, but I can tell this is the one you've been waiting for._ Maybe Alice was more right than I ever gave her credit for.

Dr. C takes out a thick, unmarked file folder, looks around the room suspiciously and then motions me to follow him over to the table. He lays out the file folder and begins flipping through it quickly until he finds the page that he's looking for.

"The poison that killed Mr. King was identical to the poison which killed Charles Evenson. This is remarkable only because that poison is so rare. In fact, it is so rare that I cannot reliably identify it. I have guesses, but they are just that. I have nothing scientific to compare it against."

"I know someone who could identify it," I say casually.

He looks at me, studying me, and then purses his lips as he continues.

"Look at the body positions," he says. He points at two photos, crime scene photos of both the Evenson and the King murders. "They are strikingly similar. Of course I naturally thought of Es—I mean, Mr. Evenson's case when I looked at this photo."

"Esme?" I ask. "You followed up on her?"

"I—Well," he stammers, pushing his glasses up on his nose and blushing. "I've kept tabs on the poor woman, yes."

"I'm glad someone has," I say and pat him on the back. "Is there anything else?"

"I can't link the two murders because I can't identify the poison."

"What if it _was_ possible to identify the poison?" I ask, putting my hand over the files so that he has to look at me.

"I won't be involved with anything illegal," he says quickly.

"Relax, doc," I say testily. "Why's everyone so quick to assume I'm dirty now that I'm not on the force? I have the same contacts now that I did then."

"I certainly don't think you are dirty," he says quietly. "But I know the difficulty you must face. How did you get in here today?"

"I bribed Gianna," I say without hesitation. "Bribes just grease the works, Doc. They don't make me corrupt."

He sighs and nods.

"Who is this person who can identify the poison?"

"I can't say," I hedge. "My source prefers to remain anonymous. I can, however, guarantee you that he wouldn't do anything illegal with any information or—samples—you might give him."

I look at him expectantly. I've thrown the ball into his court and now it's up to him to decide. He could easily wash his hands of me and shoo me out, but my gut tells me that he is more than a little interested in knowing what I can tell him. He looks furtively between me and the covered file folder.

"If anyone finds out about me giving you _anything_, I will lose my job," he says finally.

"Doc, please…I'm nothing if not discreet."

He rolls his eyes at me and walks over to a stand-up icebox. He bobs his head a few times before darting his hand inside the icebox and pulling out a small envelope.

"This is a sample of the poison that I saved from the Evenson case," he says, looking back into the box. "And this is a sample from the King murder. I've already compared them; they are identical. But, you can have both if it will help your investigation."

"I'm sure it will go a long way toward helping to identify it," I say, holding out my hand.

He holds them out of my reach and walks over to one of his tables. He pulls out two glass vials and pours the contents of each envelope into a vial. He stoppers them with cork, labels them and then brings them over to me.

"I don't know exactly what these poisons are capable of, other than murder," he says as he handles them. "Don't open this or touch it without your expert present."

"Thanks for trusting me, doc," I say as I put a vial in each of my coat pockets.

"Don't mention it," he says, coming back over to the file folder. He waves my hand out of the way and begins flipping to the back of the folder. "Aha."

He pulls a small, folded sheet of paper out of the folder and unfolds it in front of me.

"Take this," he says. "I'm sure you'll have a better idea of what to do with it than the detective who was here yesterday about this case."

I look down and see three names. All three names are written in Dr. Cullen's careful script, but two are much older than the third: _Sam Uley, Charles Evenson, and Royce King_.

"What is this?" I ask. "And who's this first person?"

"These are the names of the only three people to be killed by this unique poison in the city in the past seven years. I wasn't working here before then, so I can't say Sam was the first, but he was the first I saw. His killer was never caught. I thought it might be helpful for you…in determining a pattern."

"You said there was a detective here yesterday. Did you try to give this to him?"

"I mentioned it to him," he said with a frown. "The detective—he was very young—smiled politely at me and said they already had their suspect. He didn't think they would need any further assistance from us other than a cause of death."

"Of course not," I huff. "Thanks, doc."

I take the piece of paper from his hands.

"If—if you are able to find a pattern and catch a killer…will Esme be released?"

"It's hard to say, doc," I say softly. "I want to get her out too, but that's not really my call. But I'll sure as hell present them with my evidence. A lot will depend on her lawyer…and she didn't have the most competent one when she went to trial."

I shudder as I remember the slimy court appointed idiot who represented her. He was more interested in getting out of the courtroom than in seeing justice done. He made my skin crawl.

"I guess that's the best you can do," Dr. C says, shrugging his shoulders. He's got a far-off look in his eyes, like he's weighing options on something monumental.

"What are you thinking about, doc?" I ask.

"About what I may do," he says cryptically. "I expect to be informed if anything comes from those samples."

"Of course," I say. "I'll call or stop by as soon as I know something. And I'll bring you back whatever we have left."

"I'm glad you stopped in, Emmett."

He holds out his hand to me and I take it in mine. His hand is unnaturally cold from working in the frigid morgue, but the smile that reaches his eyes is warm and friendly.

"I really appreciate your help, doc," I say, squeezing his hand once before letting go. "I have a few hours before I need to be at the King place. Do you know if there is a Mrs. Uley I might speak with?"

"I believe there was," he says, looking back into the file. "I don't have as much about Mr. Uley. I confess that I didn't take as much of an interest in his case as I did in Mrs. Evenson's case."

He's blushing slightly and I think perhaps I understand his interest a bit more clearly now. He's flipping through the file now at a rapid rate.

"I'm sorry," he says, looking up. "This is all I have on Mr. Uley's widow. It's an old address; is it any use to you?"

"I'll check it out," I say nonchalantly.

Really, I don't want to let him know how easy it is for me to check up on these things. It's all about who you know, and I know lots of people.

"Take care, Emmett," he says.

"I will. Thanks again, doc."

I pick up my hat and walk out of the morgue, thankful to be out of that cold air with its strange smell that burns my nose. I look around and see that Gianna isn't sitting at her desk. I guess that's on purpose and hurry to the stairs, eager to be out into the fresh air again.

It doesn't take me long to track down Mrs. Sam Uley. She's living in the same part of town as she had been when Sam was alive, though not the same house. She lives in Back of the Yards. It's out of my way, but something in my gut tells me it's going to be worth it.

I park the car on the border to the Yards. It's going to be a bit of a walk for me, but trying to drive the car through the alleys and avoid the kids in the street is too difficult. I step out of the car and am again assaulted by strange smells. This time, it's the smell of the stockyards…it's the smell of slaughter. My breakfast comes up just after I exit the car. I wipe my mouth and continue forward, still feeling the urge to retch at the vile smell. I can't imagine how people can live here without puking constantly.

Mrs. Uley lives about five city blocks from the edge of the Yards. The streets are crowded with dirty, hungry children in frayed clothes. The sight of them makes my heart hurt. The look at me with glassy eyes and size me up. Suddenly, my warm trench coat and my shiny wingtip shoes make me feel self-conscious. They eye me like I'm an outsider, because everything about me screams it at them. I turn up my collar and walk on, trying to ignore their stares.

I walk up to a large tenement with laundry blowing in the cold wind that I just know is going to stink of the slaughter when they pull it off the line. An old woman sits to the side of the steps, some sort of brown juice dripping down her chin as she stares blankly ahead of her. I almost think she's not looking at anything when she bursts out a string of profanity laced with an Irish lilt. It shocks me for a moment before I recover myself and walk over to her.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for a Mrs. Sam Uley," I say to her.

"T'ain't her," she says and spits away from me, never taking her eyes off of me.

"Yes, well, might you be able to tell me where she is?"

"What do you want with Sam Uley's wife?"

The old woman hasn't spoken. I look behind her and see a beautiful woman peeking out of the dingy draperies in the window. Half of her face is hidden from view, but the eye I can see is looking at me with wary disdain. I tip my hat at her.

"Good morning. Name's Emmett McCarty. I'm a private investigator working a murder investigation—"

My introduction is cut short by her banging the window shut with enough force that I think it might shatter. I see her moving behind the draperies and then she opens the door and stands just inside it looking at me with open hatred. Her face is fully visible and the half that had been hidden by the curtain is a ruined mess of scars. The eye on that side appears to have been blinded at some point and is now only a dead white thing looking out at nothing. Her other eye is fully functional and stares at me angrily. In fact, the other side of her face is almost worse than the scarred half; it shows what she lost.

"I bet you're not working my husband's murder though, are you?"

She stares at me for a few seconds before she continues without allowing me to speak.

"Of course you're not. Because no one from _your_ world cares about people like us. So whose case are you working?"

"I'm employed by someone interested in finding Royce King's killer," I say.

She sneers at me and then holds the door open, gesturing me inside.

"We'll talk inside. I'm Emily Uley by the way, the one you were looking for."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Uley," I say, extending my hand.

She looks at my hand for a second and then reaches out to take it. Her grip is firm but soft nonetheless. In it, I feel all of the loss she is trying to hide and I feel even more like an interloper for interrupting her life with memories she likely would prefer to forget.

"Thank you for talking with me," I say when she leads me to an immaculate kitchen at the back of the apartment.

She shrugs and sits down opposite me.

"It's worth it on the off chance that something you find out about Royce will lead to information about my Sam."

I bring out my notebook and pencil.

"Why would you think that?" I ask.

"Isn't that why you're here?" she asks. "You must know they were business partners. I assumed that's why you came."

"No, I actually don't know very much at all about your husband and I was hoping you could tell me some things," I say carefully, not wanting to offend. "I came because it seems that both your husband and Mr. King were killed with the same poison."

She sits back and seems to consider my words for a moment.

"So you're here just because they were killed with the same…poison? Aren't most poisons pretty common?"

"Many are, but the medical examiner believes this poison to be very rare. He remembered it when Mr. King was brought into the morgue."

"So he thinks there's a connection," she says.

"There are only possibilities at this time and I'm exploring all of them," I say.

"So who's paying you? I'm guessing it's the accused killer. Who is it?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't divulge…"

"Listen, Mr. McCarty, is it?"

I nod and she continues.

"My husband's murder has gone unsolved for nearly seven years. Royce King has been dead, what? Three days? And already some fancy PI is asking questions that might get me some answers…whatever you find out, I deserve to know. I've waited too long to know who did this to Sam."

"I understand, Mrs. Uley, and truly I feel for you. I will tell you what I can, but I can't divulge the name of my client."

"Right," she sneers. "Gotta protect the men with the big bucks, right? It isn't by any chance a wiry little guy named Chuck Evers, is it?"

I furrow my brows in confusion. The name's familiar, but it isn't what I was expecting.

"Chuck Evers? Who is that and why did you think of him?"

"Chuck was another of Sam and Royce's business partners. I saw Royce a few times after Sam's murder, but Chuck disappeared and I never saw him. It always seemed fishy to me and I mentioned him to the police who kindly blew me off for my trouble."

I began to write the name down and my mind saw _Charles_ instead of _Chuck_. I made the jump from there. I began to wonder if Chuck Evers was really Charles Evenson. But why were the murders so spread out if they were all linked? And who would want to murder them?

"Do you know what business your husband was involved in with Royce and Chuck?" I ask.

She shakes her head and sighs.

"Probably something illegal," she admits. "For a long time I didn't want to admit that, but it's the only thing that makes sense. Why else would someone want to kill him?"

"Did he say anything that ever gave you a clue about his business? Even something you might have overheard?"

"He didn't do business around the house," she says quickly. "I knew that was a bad sign, but I was just glad it didn't happen around the kids."

Her hand creeps up to her face unconsciously and I'm sure in that moment that Sam did this to her. I grip my pencil more tightly and make up my mind. I need to at least see how she reacts.

"Mrs. Uley?" I ask. "Emily? Did…Sam do that to your face?"

Her eye snaps up to meet mine and her lips twist into a grimace.

"I don't talk ill of the dead, Mr. McCarty," she says and then stands up, gesturing toward the door.

I've clearly outstayed my welcome, but I've gotten more than I bargained for from her. So Sam was definitely connected to Royce and possibly both men were connected to Charles Evenson. I stand up and tuck my notebook back in my pocket and walk toward the door with her.

"I'm sorry for upsetting you, Emily," I say softly at the door. "Anything I find out that I can tell you, I will."

She nods curtly and opens the door. I know I've already caused her too much pain and I walk out the door without another word. As I'm walking down the street, I hear the sound of someone running to catch up to me. It's Emily with tears pouring down her face.

"See that you keep your promise," she says in a tear-choked voice.

"I will," I say, reaching out and touching her arm.

Emily nods and turns away and I watch her walk back to the small hole of an apartment she calls home. She walks with her head up, looking straight ahead. I think she's going to look back at me, but she doesn't. She ignores the old woman who eyes her suspiciously as she approaches the building, and she closes the door behind her with a bang. As I walk back to the car, I can't get her out of my head. I see the ugly pink scars on her face and the dead eye and I want to know more…I want to know what could possibly have provoked someone to hurt her like that. Was it her old man? If so, he was a right git and I was almost glad someone had done him in. But if not…who?

I drive slowly away from the Back of the Yards, my mind still in turmoil with all of the theories I'm exploring. It's going to take me a solid hour to get to the King residence in Oak Park, but I don't mind the drive. It will give me some time to sort out my thoughts.

I pull up to the King residence, and I'm overwhelmed with the difference between this world and Emily's world. How can a man who lived in Back of the Yards have been in bed with a man who lived like _this_? Emily said they were likely involved in something illegal, but I wonder if she knows about Royce's other world. I doubt he would have brought his slum buddies to his palace outside of the city. Did she even know how different life was for Sam's "business partner"?

I shake my head as I get out of the car, handing my keys to the man waiting to park my car by the garage. No foul smells in this neighborhood…just the crisp, warm smell of fires being stoked to keep the occupants of the house warm and cozy.

I expect the lawyer to greet me at the door, but instead a butler greets me and takes my fedora and coat.

"Ms. Hale asks that you wait in the sitting room," he says. "She will be with you presently."

The sitting room has already been set up with light refreshments. I realize that Leah's hearty breakfast seems a long ways away and find I am hungry again now that I am away from the vile stench of the Yards. The butler gestures blandly at the refreshments and closes the door behind him as he leaves. Not needing any further invitation, I take a plate and dig in to the fruits and small sandwiches laid out for me.

"I'm glad to see you make yourself at home," Rosie says from behind me, almost startling me enough to drop my plate.

I turn around slowly and smirk when I see her lounging in the door frame, a black satin dress that hugs all of her curves. Her hair is loose today and hangs over one of her shoulders. Her smoky blue eyes are lidded and full of mirth as she takes in my loaded plate.

"Please," she says, egging me on. "Eat. It's laid out for your benefit."

I grab a linen napkin embroidered with the letter 'K' and take my plate over to the table. Rose drapes herself over a chaise lounge and watches me as I eat. It's uncomfortable, to say the least. It's not even like she made the stuff she's watching me eat…she's just watching for the hell of it. It makes me eat faster so I can be done with the show.

Wiping my face with the napkin, I pull my notebook out of my pocket and Rose perks up.

"You have something for me," she says with a smirk. "That was very fast indeed."

"I don't know what I have," I admit. "But I got a lot further than I thought I would."

"So tell me…where do we stand?"

"Tell me, Ms. Hale, was your husband involved in any…illicit activities?"

She shrugs carelessly.

"He was a banker, Mr. McCarty," she says. "Of course he was involved in illicit activities. You'll need to narrow your question down a bit."

"Alright…does the name Sam Uley mean anything to you?"

I highly doubt she's ever heard of him. By the looks of her, she isn't much older than me. I don't know how long she was married to Royce, but I don't think it was for seven years. She is thinking though.

"No," she says finally. "I never heard Royce speak of anyone named Sam. Why? Is this a suspect?"

"No, he was killed seven years ago," I say, flipping through my notes. "What about Chuck Evers…or maybe Charles Evenson?"

"Wait…back up. Why do I care about another dead guy, this one killed seven years ago?"

"Because he was killed with the same poison as your husband," I say, looking her in the eye. "The other name?"

"Names…," she says tapping her lip as she thinks. "I don't know either of those names either."

She stands up slowly.

"Come with me," she says, crooking her finger at me and walking to another door. "You might be able to find something in his private files."

She takes me through several rooms before we finally get to a richly decorated room filled with dark wood furniture and lush red carpets. The paintings on the wall are classics and look authentic. The smell of brandy and cigar reek of men's business and I know that we have entered Royce's private domain.

"His desk," she says pointing over at the large antique desk sitting in the middle of the room, "and his file cabinet. He kept the key to the locked cabinet in a compartment in the bottom drawer of the desk."

I realize as I stand there watching her chew her lip that this is the room where her husband was murdered. As I walk further in the room, she keeps pace with me, seeming like she doesn't want to be too far away. I understand and it makes me even more certain of her innocence. A murderess isn't going to be scared of her own crime scene.

"Royce didn't think I knew about the key," she says, her voice getting higher as we get closer to the desk. "He didn't really like me coming in here at all. But I knew."

She shook her head. It looked to me like she was trying to find her hard-as-nails veneer and failing. The fear was leaking through again and I had an urge to go over to her…to stroke her hair and calm her down. Of course, I couldn't do that. Rosalie Hale was way out of my league and I would do well to get thoughts like _those_ out of my head.

"Would you feel better sitting there?" I ask, pointing to a chair on the other side of the desk.

I get the impression that she's almost as afraid of this desk as she was of her late husband. It's like she's afraid he's going to know. Again, irrationally, I'm angry at the SOB. A dame like Rosie shouldn't be made afraid of anyone.

She nods and slips into the char looking pale and frightened. I walk over and close the door to the office. She seems to relax when it's just the two of us without any danger of anyone walking in.

I start fiddling around with his desk and Rosie makes chit chat with me, asking about my day and turning up her nose when I tell her where I've been.

"Ah, you'd like Jas's though," I say as I flip through Royce's day planner. "He makes a fine cup of tea, or so I'm told."

"Yes, well, the side dealing in poison just puts me right off," she says with a smirk.

I have to laugh. She's a very quick wit. I wonder how she got tangled up with a stuffed shirt like Royce King. I see day after day of meeting after meeting. There's hardly an hour here and there for his wife at all. She must have been bored stiff…or grateful that he wasn't around.

"You think I can take this with me?" I ask, fishing in the bottom drawer for the key. "I'd like to do a bit of work deciphering his code for things."

"I don't care what you take," she says. "Take it all and good riddance."

I shake my head as I use the key on the locked file cabinet. It takes me a good hour to go through his files, but I'm able to find connections to both Sam Uley and a Chuck Evers in the cabinet. I have no luck linking Chuck Evers with Charles Evenson though. I bang my hand on the table in frustration as I come to the last likely document and find nothing. The noise startles Rosie who had started to doze in the chair while I worked.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Hale," I say immediately.

"You can call me Rose," she says after stretching. "I'm not as formal a person as you seem to think; that's just the way of the money, Mr. McCarty."

"Em," I say, holding out my hand to her as though we just met. "It's good to meet you, Rose."

She laughs and the sound is both girlish and beautiful. Our hands are still linked as the door bursts open. Detective Edward Masen, E.A.M, strides into the room taking in my position, the strewn papers on the desk and the open file cabinet. He also lingers on Rose's and my linked hands.

"Mr. McCarty," he says. "Funny we should meet here."

"Detective," I say, casually pulling my hand out of Rose's grip.

She is attempting to control the horror that is spreading across her face, but she is failing.

"You want to explain your presence in my crime scene?" he asks.

"I'm employed by Ms. Hale as a private investigator," I say simply. "I'm gathering evidence."

"Funny how you didn't say that at the diner," he says, crossing his arms across his chest.

"You didn't ask what I did or who I worked for," I remind him.

"True enough. I'm sure you'd like to explain how you got the file cabinet open. Ms. Hale led me to believe that it was locked and she didn't know where the key was hidden."

I look at Rose, her eyes wide in terror; I guess she's worried I was going to rat her out.

"You would have found the key as quickly as I did if you had chosen to look," I said with certainty. "Pretty ordinary hiding place…secret compartment of the bottom drawer."

I hold up the key for his inspection and he nods at me, his lips pursed in exasperation.

"You better come out from behind the desk and get comfortable," he says with a sigh. "You both have a lot of explaining to do."

_**A/N: So...what are you thinking now? Anybody have suspects or guesses? Are you enjoying the mystery? And what do you think EAM is going to do now? Hmm...possibilities. ;) Thanks for reading! ~Jen**_


	3. Oleander

Detective Masen walks into the room, his eyes darting between Rose and me. I wonder what small minded assumptions he's already made about me and my associations with the lovely lady. I can tell by the set of his jaw that he doesn't like what he sees, but thus far he's keeping his trap shut. He approaches the desk and stands with his arms folded across his chest.

"What do you have for me?" he asks.

I look back at him surprised and he frowns, cocking his head to the side as he waits.

"You want my information?" I ask, unable to hide my surprise.

"If you have anything of interest … yeah, let's hear it. It'll make for entertainment if nothing else," he says with a smile.

He sits down in a chair next to Rosie and she looks down at him with a mixture of unease and shock; clearly she isn't expecting him to be so interested either. I sit down, smoothing my tie as I look over the notes in front of me. _What to give him … what to keep?_

It's a risky gamble and I know that. I know that if I give him everything, he can easily hide everything. I know that if I hold information back and he finds out, he can prosecute me. I look him up and down, trying to pin down what type he is and he lets me look.

He stares me right in the face with those piercing green eyes that probably set the dames tongues to hanging and he looks … cocky. Self-assured. And, goddammit, he looks honest. I sigh and look down.

"You want to know what I want," he says, his voice quiet, level. "You're wondering what I'm after and what angle I'm playing. And you want to know what I'm going to do with what you have."

I look up at him and frown. He's probably anal enough to have looked me up at the station to see if I have a record. So he probably knows about my history with the department. But that doesn't mean he's on my side. If anything, it makes me even more wary.

"Yeah," I say. "There's a lot I want to know about you. But first, I guess I owe you my hard work, right?"

"Don't look at it like that, Mr. McCarty," he says, a smile spreading across his face that makes me even more uneasy. "We can be partners … a team, if you will."

"Don't see how that can be, _detective_, when you're purpose seems to be to railroad my client."

"And now you sound like that weasel of a lawyer she employs," he scoffs.

It angers me that he's talking about her like she's not sitting five feet away from him, but I bite my tongue. No need to let feelings get in on this; they just muck up the works.

"Give me a chance," he continues, "pretend for a minute that you believe I want to help you and just give it to me straight."

"Ms. Hale came to me last night and asked me to help her dig up some information about who might want to off her dearly departed husband," I say, unable to keep the ironic tone out of my voice when I talk about the slime, Royce King.

"I think we can all agree that Mr. King was not a prince among men, Mr. McCarty. Continue," he says.

Rosie snorts as she finally sits down, pinning me with a worried look. She trusts me, but she's scared of this guy. Again, I want to comfort her. _Damn this dame has gotten under my skin_, I think and try to focus.

"So I did some rooting around, talked to some old acquaintances, and found out that Royce was killed with the same poison as one Charles Evenson … name ring any bells for you?"

"That'd be the case that got you booted from the force, right?" he asks lazily.

I ball my fists up under the desk and take a deep breath. Rosie continues to look at me with a horrified look on her face and I try to ignore her. I know she's scared but seeing it on her face isn't doing anything for my concentration.

"Yes," I answered Masen through clenched teeth. "That would be the one. According to my source, it's a rather … unique poison … he'd only seen it in one other case in his extensive history."

"Name," he said, pulling out his tablet.

"Please," I reply, smirking at him.

He spreads his hand in front of him. "I had to try. Go on."

"I got the name of the other man who had been killed using the poison … a Sam Uley … but haven't been able to dig up much about him other than he likely severely disfigured his wife."

Masen's eyes shift quickly over to Rose and then back to me, an unspoken question lurking in his eyes. I still don't know if Royce beat Rosie, but the fact remains that both Esme Evenson and Emily Uley were mistreated by their husbands who then ended up dead from a strange poison. It bears further exploration and I was pleased that Masen seemed to think so. I watch as he furiously writes down their names in his little notebook.

"What was the name of the poison?" he asks.

"No clue," I say. "But my source gave me a list of the effects on the body and … I have another source who might be able to help us out."

Masen looks up from his tablet, folds the cover over and looks at me steadily.

"I probably … no, I definitely don't want to know about a source who can identify a poison that a doctor can't identify. What type of people you running with, McCarty?"

"People who can give me answers when I need them," I say, a little too defensively and he notes it mentally. "I made my contacts while I was in the department … I've just kept them up now that I'm a civilian."

He nods.

"What did you find out about Uley? You said not much … but anything?"

"He was a low life," I spit out, unable to hold back the malice in my voice. Young Mrs. Uley really affected me. "You shoulda seen what he did to her face."

"You said that already," he said curtly. "What else besides the abuse?"

His eyes travel over to Rose again and I realize he's lining these dames up. Sick, twisted husbands who like to beat them, all of them ending up dead. The wives, though scarred, ending up alive and without their attackers. Neat. In a box. Tidy. And, in my opinion, dead wrong.

"He was linked to Royce King," I say, leaning forward in Royce's chair, my voice getting louder. "Mrs. Uley knew the King name in an instant … When she heard that I was there investigating Royce's murder, she opened the door quickly, hoping to gain some information. She said they were business partners and she mentioned another fellow that they ran with … Chuck Evers."

Masen flips open his notebook and starts to write. He stops almost immediately.

"Chuck Evers …"

"That's why I thought," I say. "Close, isn't it?"

"Very."

"What in the bloody hell are you two talking about?" Rosie bursts out after a moment. "You're going back and forth … what's close?"

Masen stifles a smile.

"The name 'Chuck Evers' is fairly close to 'Charles Evenson,' Ms. Hale. We were noting the similarities."

"But both of these men were dead before Royce was murdered. They couldn't have done it."

"No," Masen says, and then looks up at me. "But someone could have killed them all."

I don't breathe as he stares at me … we're on the edge of something here and I'm afraid any sudden movements and we'll all go back to our normal roles: him the suspicious detective and me the PI who's in his way.

"Do you have anything else?"

I look down at the appointment book that I was planning to hide and take with me. I put my fingers on it and touch it gently, thoughtfully.

"Just this," I whisper. "But I don't know what half of the jargon in this thing means."

I hand over the day planner and look over at Rose. Her eyes are ice full of accusation. She thinks he's going to bury her and I don't blame her. Maybe I can make it up to her after he leaves … if he gives me the chance. I know his interest might be all for show; he could still easily railroad me.

Masen is flipping through the calendar and making notes in his book.

"Ms. Hale … might I have a moment with Mr. McCarty?"

She nods numbly, shooting daggers at me as she stands and turns to walk away. I figure as soon as she's out the door, she'll be on the phone with the little lawyer. Unless she keeps him squirreled away in the attic for when she needs him. I snort a little at that thought, making Masen look at me suspiciously.

When Rosie closes the door softly behind her, Masen puts the calendar back on the desk and looks at me for a long moment before speaking.

"You got more in a day's work than I have in over a week," he says, shaking his head. "And it's good … I can't blow holes through it. It's not air tight, but it's something."

I wait, knowing that he has more to say.

"The department is ready to make an arrest," he says, flipping his notebook up on to the table and sitting back in his chair. "I'm the only hold out, and since I'm the lead investigator … it's a problem for them."

"What are you holding out for?" I ask, thinking back to his notes that I can't tell him about.

"Ms. Hale is a cold woman. But she doesn't strike me as cold-blooded enough to murder a man. There're too many indicators that point me in a different direction."

I eye him warily, wondering where he's going with this and wondering where it's going to lead.

"She spoke of him in the present tense when I interviewed her the night of the murder," he says quietly. "I've never known a murderer to slip and _forget_ that their victim is dead. She could just be very careful, but that isn't in her nature. She's got a temper on her and she speaks from the heart though she doesn't like to show it. She was still trying to acclimate herself to Royce's death more than five hours after she found the body. That says to me that it likely wasn't her."

I nodded and hoped that he would go on.

"When she told me her story, she looked me in the eye. She didn't look away or look down … she was sure of herself and of her story. She made me feel confident."

"So … where are you now?" I ask after he paused for a while.

"In a world of trouble," he says frowning. "I don't want to arrest an innocent woman just because she happened to hate a man who beat her. I also don't want to be railroaded out of my job because I didn't follow protocol. I'm sure you can sympathize with me there."

I laugh harshly at him.

"Actually, that's _exactly_ what I let happen because I _refused_ to do as I was told. It's a choice, buddy. What are _you_ going to choose?"

"Don't act superior with me, Mr. McCarty," he says quickly, looking me directly in the eye. "I'm not planning on blindly arresting Ms. Hale … but I'm also not going to take myself out of the only position in which I can help her. How much good did your dismissal do Mrs. Evenson?"

"You jackass!" I cry, standing up.

He holds his hands up and remains sitting.

"I'm not calling your actions into question, I'm simply asking you to look at my actions a little clearer."

"You damn well _are_ calling my actions into question," I say hotly. "If you think I didn't do everything I could while I was still on the force …"

"But you weren't smart about it," he says, standing up, "because you ended up getting fired for doing the right thing, didn't you? I read your case file this morning after I got to the department. You _let_ them railroad you because you were so disgusted with _them_. Please understand that I can do Ms. Hale more good _in_ this uniform than out on the street with you."

He has a point. A valid point to boot. It still irked me to have to work with the fuzz like this, still unsure of where he stood.

"So what're you going to do?" I ask, stepping around the desk to stand in front of him.

I like that I have a height advantage on the guy. It makes me feel more in control of this situation.

"Work the case … from the inside. You know I can't give you too much, but I can make your job easier. And I can look the other way when you have to use some of your … shadier connections. If you can get my solid evidence, I can make the charge and the threat of a trial disappear for her."

"You know that's not her biggest concern, right?" I ask quietly, settling my arms over my chest. "The trial is nothing to her … you know her money can get her off faster than that wet-behind-the-ears lawyer she employs …"

"The real killer?" he asks.

"Of course," I say. "She's worried whoever it is will come after her."

"Well … she has you, right?" he asks. "You planning on leaving her unprotected?"

He has a smirk on his face as though he knows something and I realize he's caught on to my fascination with Rosie. I shrug my shoulders in response.

"She's a beautiful woman, Mr. McCarty … I'm not judging you."

"Emmett," I say, holding out my hand.

If he's willing to work with me, we might as well shake on it.

"Edward," he replies with his strange smile and takes my hand. "You'll keep me abreast of any developments?"

"Yeah," I say, taking my hand back. "I'm guessing you don't want calls at the department though …"

He chuckles and shakes his head.

"Breakfast at Leah's seems to suit you," he says as he turns toward the door.

"Yeah … it certainly does."

"Good … perhaps I'll see you there tomorrow."

He opens the door and I catch a glimpse of Rosie lying on the couch in the other room. Her legs her tucked up underneath of her and her blue eyes are swimming with mistrust and fear as she looks at the detective. He turns around and looks at me for a moment.

"Good luck," he says quietly and I have to wonder if he means the case or the dame.

I watch him nod his goodbye to Rosie and as he walks past her out of the room she sits there for a moment, looking after him. I don't want to, but I watch the way her neck muscles move as she turns her head and the way her curls fall softly over her shoulder. When she turns back to look at me, I swallow hard as her eyes hold mine across the distance. This is bad … and I need to get out of here before I screw this up.

She gets up and walks toward me, her hips swaying back and forth and her hands playing with a strand of pearls around her neck. As she walks toward the room, her eyes harden in degrees … I guess she's preparing herself for bad news because her mouth is twisted in an angry, tight smile when she finally stands in front of me.

"So … when's he bringing the cavalry back to bring me in?" she asks.

"He's not," I say and turn around.

I need to put some distance between the two of us. The closeness of her is making me want to reach out to her.

"He's not completely convinced by the evidence, but he's willing to dig deeper. Surprised the hell out of me, actually."

"So … he's willing to look at other suspects?" she asks.

"Yeah … he thinks, like me, that there are just too many similarities for it to be coincidence. He wants to know more."

"So he's going to tell his boss and they'll call off their bloodhounds?"

"It's not that simple, Rosie, you have to know that," I say softly.

She stares at me for a moment, her eyes unreadable.

"What did you call me?" she asks finally.

_Shit_.

"I – I'm sorry, Rose – Ms. Hale," I stammer, realizing what I've said.

She's always been Rosie in my head.

"I'm not angry, Em. I simply asked what you called me."

"Rosie," I say quietly, searching her face for something that doesn't seem to be there.

She smiles and it barely touches her eyes.

"That's what my sister used to call me," she whispers.

She's lost in thought and I'm lost in looking at her in all the wrong ways. I start to think that if she comes close to me again, I might grab her and kiss her. She comes out of her daydream slowly and then looks up at me.

"I think you need to go now," she says quietly and I can see her in her face that she needs to be alone. "You said you have more work to do tonight and I certainly don't wish to keep you from it."

It's the right thing to do and it'll give me a clearer head for the work that still needs to be done. Still … I don't want to leave her. I look down and am happy to see that Edward had quietly left the calendar for me to sift through. I don't know if I'll have more luck with it than him, but I'll probably have more liberty to look through it than he would.

"Right," I say finally with a sigh. "I'll just take this and go then. I'm – I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she murmurs. "I liked it … that's why you have to go."

It isn't until I'm almost out the door when I realize what she's saying. She liked it … so I had to go. It's dangerous for her to like it and frankly it'll look bad if anyone sees us making moony faces at each other. But … she liked it. Well, that's something.

I turn around to look at her before I open the door. She's got the same faraway look in her eyes that she had before, only this time she's looking at me.

"I'll call with any news," I say.

"That's for the best."

"Goodnight, Rosie," I say as I reach for the door.

I freeze when I feel her on my forearm and then I turn around again. She's closer now and I can smell her perfume. It's spicy, like cinnamon and sugar.

"I – I wish …" she sighs. "Well, I wish it was different, you know?"

"Maybe it will be," I say.

There's no one around so I reach out and touch her shoulder softly. When she gasps and looks up at me with her blue eyes wide and wanting, I realize I now have a whole new reason for wanting to get her name cleared. Rosalie Hale had gone and bewitched me.

* * *

I sat in my apartment going over my own notes, the notes I had from the police file, and the calendar. I no longer had the poison samples on me because I'd dropped them off with Jas just after leaving the King Residence. The tea house had been bustling so Jas couldn't look at anything then, but he had promised to call first thing in the morning to let me know what he had found, if anything.

The calendar is a mess of codes and symbols and abbreviations that I can't decipher and it makes my head hurt something awful. I try to cross reference all of my notes with it to see if I can come up with some pattern, but Royce is maddeningly hard to pin down. I decide to focus only on the calendar, see if there are any patterns within it and then go from there.

Every first and third Wednesday of the month, Royce met an MA in the VR for a lunch meeting. He blocked off two hours every time he went to see this person and he left the forty-five minutes before and after each meeting open.

I walk over to the phone book and open it to the restaurant section. There are only four that start with the letter V: _Vamps and Tramps_, _The Venetian_, _The Venice_, and _The Volterra Room_. All except _Vamps and Tramps_ are high end places that only people like Royce can get into. I doubt that either Sam Uley or Charles Evenson (if that's who Chuck Evers is or was) ever saw the inside of those places. But _The Volterra Room_ is the only one that fits the initials. It's entirely possible that they were meeting at some unlisted place, but this was all I had to go on so I wrote the name in my notes along with the address and decided to go there the next day.

I know I won't be able to ferret the name out of the phone book, so I turn back to the calendar, eager to see if there are any other patterns that I can detect. I notice in the corner of some boxes are single initials: J, C, and R at varying intervals. There's no way for me to know what those letters can mean without some sort of key code.

I throw the planner back on my desk and scrub my face with my hands. There is little more for me to do here that won't drive me crazy with conjecture. Instead of making leaps that won't help the case, I step into a steamy shower and then head to bed where I suspect images of Rosie will visit me.

I awake the next morning, confused by the offensive ringing of the phone. The light from the windows is still dim so I realize it is still quite early. My mind is still cloudy from sleep when I finally pick up the receiver.

"McCarty," I say gruffly.

"Em … you there, my man? I thought I missed you …"

I vaguely recognize the voice as Jasper's and things begin to fall into place. I'm on a case. Jas has the poison samples and he's calling with results.

"What do you have for me, Jas?" I say, fully awake now and reaching for my notepad.

"I have a name," he says.

"A suspect?" I ask hopefully.

"No, of the poison. It's Curare. I don't know that I've ever seen this poison in person."

"Then … how did you identify it?"

"It's a special mixture of some plants which are indigenous to South America. The locals there use the poison on darts to paralyze and kill their prey."

"So it does the same thing when ingested?" I ask.

"That's that interesting part … it needs to be injected. So whoever your killer is, injected it somehow."

"That's impossible," I say. "The police are sure that the poison was delivered through the tea."

"I'm telling you what the poison is and how it's delivered. It's on you guys to figure out the who and the how."

I make a note in the pad to call Dr. C and ask him to look through his notes for any puncture wounds on any of the bodies.

"So this poison … you say it's rare?" I ask.

"I've never seen it, and you know my experience. I've _heard_ of it, but this stuff takes special plants and you need to know how to be able to prepare it. Whoever did this, took time and loads of money. You can't find these plants in the States, at least as far as I know."

"Right," I say, my mind working on overdrive as I write down everything he tells me. "Thanks, Jas. I'll get back to you if I need anything else."

"Oh, Em?" Jas asks uncomfortably.

"Yeah?"

"Alice says you should trust him. She says you'll know who she means."

I groan into the phone and I hear Jas stifle a laugh.

"Tell her I said fine."

I hang up the phone and shake my head at it. I don't want to trust Edward Masen. It's been so easy to build up animosity toward him; it's easier when it's just them and me. Now, I can't figure if it's still them and me or if it's me and Edward against them … I just don't know.

I pull on my clothes and hop into the car before I can think more about it. I have my notes tucked into my coat pocket as I walk briskly into Leah's diner. She looks up, surprised to see me two days in a row. I nod to her and look down the counter to where Edward is eating his breakfast. He hasn't looked up yet, but I know he's seen me.

I sit down next to him, wondering how he wants to play this. I know Leah is safe, but Edward doesn't. I also know nothing about the little doll who's been tripping over herself to wait on him since I walked in the door.

"Em," he says quietly, not looking up from his breakfast. "You're later than I expected."

I huff and then pull my notebook along with the calendar out of my pocket.

"I was up later than expected working out codes," I say. "Don't suppose your rest was interrupted at all."

His eyes flick over to the waitress, Bella I remember him calling her, and I'm jealous for a moment … not of the girl, but of the fact that he had company. I still can't get Rosie out of my head.

"What did you find?" he asks.

Bella walks over with a cup of joe for me, her eyes on her feet as she walks.

"Thanks, darlin'," I say to her and then turn to Edward. "You know anything about _The Volterra Room_?"

Bella gasps and Edward's eyes darken a touch.

"Bella, honey, why don't you get Mr. McCarty some breakfast?" he asks, his voice tight.

I have a bad feeling about the look on his face; it's too serious for the innocent question I've just asked.

"Do you mind a booth?" he asks, already picking up his plate and standing up.

I follow him over with my coffee and we sit across from each other, his food now almost entirely forgotten.

"Why did you mention _The Volterra Room_?" he asks, leaning across the table so as to be more secretive.

I tell him about Royce's meetings on the first and third Wednesday of every month and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"So you immediately thought of _that_ place?" he asks.

"Thought of it?" I ask, louder than I intended; I don't like his tone. "I looked up restaurants starting with V and that one was the only one that fit with 'VR.' What's with this place and why did it affect your girl so bad?"

Edward's eyes shift over to Bella and I see the tension in his jaw as he considers what he wants to tell me and what he wants to keep from me.

"Bella has a past," he says quietly. "But she got out … not a lot of women do, you know. Tell me what you know about _Volterra_ and we can go from there."

"I know the name and the address," I say truthfully. "I know it's a ritzy place that a guy like me couldn't get into and from the way you're acting, I'm guessing it's ten shades of illegal. Now spill."

He frowns and sighs, but he soon starts talking.

"The restaurant is a front for the Italian mob here in Chicago. They all hang out there, Aro Carpino, Marcus Ambrosi, Cay DeMarco … they're all based out of that joint – what?"

"Who did you say?" I ask, flipping through my notes and the calendar quickly.

"Aro Carpino … Marcus Ambrosi …"

"That one! Look here," I say, pushing the calendar over at him and pointing to one of the Wednesday meetings.

"Meet MA at VR …" he mumbles.

He looks up at me with surprise in his eyes.

"This is good work," he says.

"Don't sound so surprised," I say gruffly. "I know how to do my homework. Tell me more about that place since we can now assume it's important."

"The place is huge," he says. "Father took me there when I graduated from the Academy … before I knew what it was … and I was astounded by the size. That's where I met Bella."

He looks up at her as she walks my food over. She's biting her lip like she knows we're talking about her. When she sets my plate down, she looks over her shoulder at Leah who motions for her to do what she needs to do. She sits down next to Edward and he immediately puts his arm around her.

"You don't need to do this, babe," he says softly.

"Yeah, I do," she says softly. "I can trust him?"

She looks over at me and Edward does as well.

"Yeah … you sure can."

It pleases me that this cop thinks I'm trustworthy and I smile at the young girl across from me.

"_Volterra_ isn't a place you dream of ending up," she says bitterly. "You go there because you have no other choice. Aro and his boys wanted me from the time I was eight and playing on their corner. When daddy died in the flu and mama couldn't feed me anymore … well, I knew where I could go to feed her and me. Aro took me in without hesitation and put me to work almost immediately."

I can see in her eyes that she wasn't put to work washing dishes or even waiting tables. I look over at Edward and I see the look on his face; it's damn near killing him to watch her talk about this. I guess he wants these bastards more than I do.

"It was fine," she continues. "It was all I knew from the time I was sixteen, well … until I met Edward."

"How did you get out?" I ask thickly.

"Oh, Aro let me go," she says airily.

I see her hand move underneath the table and she grabs hold of Edward's jacket like an anchor.

"He likes to tell people that none of his girls are there against their will. What he doesn't like to tell everyone is that he's marked us all. Even if we walk away, _he's_ still with us."

She thrusts out her arm and shows me a well-healed mark hidden in the curve of her arm, just inside the elbow. **AC** is legible, clear as day on her skin. He branded her.

"Mr. McCarty, in his mind, I still belong to him. If he ever catches me unawares … he'll take me. He leaves me alone because I'm always either here or with Edward, but I know if I'm ever stupid or careless, he'll come for me."

I swallow the sickness rising in my throat as I try to tear my eyes away from the mark on Bella's pale skin. How many other women has this monster branded like this? And how is Royce connected to all of this?

"Do you know Royce King?" I ask, my eyes moving away from Bella to Edward.

He looks as though he's in pain. I feel bad for him, but I know that it'll be easier on him if I ask the questions.

"The guy who got offed by his wife a week or so back?" she asks.

I frown.

"We don't believe Ms. Hale had anything to do with the murder," I say formally.

She looks over at Edward and he shakes his head quickly to show his agreement.

"Oh … and you've found his ties to _Volterra_," she whispers.

"We're pretty sure we did," Edward says, his voice strained. "We just don't know how deep they were. Do you know him, Bella?"

I can hear the pleading in his voice and I know what he's thinking. He knows his girl has been handed out among a bunch of sleazy men, but to put a face to the concept is just too much for him.

Bella knows too and she looks over at me.

"He wasn't a client," she says, "but I saw him there."

"Bella worked there for five years … she left almost three years ago, right baby?"

She nods. I hate to do it, but I continue.

"What about Sam Uley? Or Chuck Evers? Both of them have been dead for years, but did you know them in your time there?"

Bella shudders and puts her head in her face. Edward looks up at me and the cords in his neck stand out from the strain of listening to this. I've grown to actually like the man in the short time I've known him; I dislike seeing him hurting like this.

"Yeah … I knew Sam and Chuck. Sam was the one who gave me this," she says as she holds out her arm again, "along with various other little gifts along the way."

Edward's hand hits the table and Bella jumps a little next to him. I think it's a damn good thing for both Sam and Chuck that they are already pushing up daisies.

* * *

Edward and I leave the diner after paying our tabs. Once we're outside, Edward starts to look calmer. I can't imagine it's easy for him to leave her alone, but I guess it helps knowing that Leah's brothers and cousins are always hanging around. No one messes with Leah's people and comes out unscarred. I know Leah well enough to know that Bella is one of her people now and I think even higher of her for taking a case like that into her diner. Leah has a heart like no other.

"So are you going or am I?" I ask.

"Going where?"

"To _Volterra_? We have questions to ask."

"Emmett, people don't just go into _Volterra_ and ask questions. It isn't as if they're going to give us a straight answer."

"No … but we might find some things out based on what they _do_ tell us. It might even be enlightening just to see the place."

As I said it, it made me think. Seeing the restaurant probably wouldn't be that interesting or enlightening. But seeing what was _behind_ the restaurant … now that would be truly intriguing. I look up at Edward with a smile on my face and he immediately looks wary.

"What cockamamie plan are you brewing in that head of yours, McCarty?" he asks like he's known me his whole life.

I laugh at him and shake my head.

"You're known there, right? So you can't go in and get through to the back. But no one knows me," I say.

"You can't be serious," he says. "You'll go and get yourself killed the minute they find out who you are."

"Then they best not find out, eh?" I ask. "I have to go see about my date for this evening. You maybe see about getting me and my entourage a table for three?"

"Your entourage? You can't be serious. You can't take Rosalie Hale there."

I stop and turn around.

"I wouldn't dream of it," I say, surprised. The thought honestly hadn't occurred to me. "Besides, she wouldn't be nearly as helpful as the young lady I have in mind. In general, having a psychic as an escort is quite useful in preventing death."

He looks at me as though I've completely lost my mind. It's possible that I have. Thinking about Alice makes me remember that in the excitement about _Volterra_, I've forgotten about the Curare. I tell Edward who simply files the information away and begins trying to talk me out of my plans again. Rare South American poisons hold no interest for him at the moment.

"Relax, Edward," I say finally. "Make my reservation under the name … Brandon. Ms. Brandon and guests will be having dinner tonight. Make sure you make us sound important … we are looking to be fully entertained. I need to see about a tux."

I leave him spluttering on the sidewalk as I walk toward my car. I head to Alice and Jasper's for the second day in a row, knowing that Alice will likely be expecting me.

Alice is naturally ecstatic about the outing and is already chattering away when I fill her in. She knows where I should go to get a tux and she has just the thing she wants to wear.

"We'll knock 'em dead, Em," she says determinedly. "And I just know we'll find out something important."

Jasper is looking at me like he wants to kill me and I don't blame him. He has a better idea of what _Volterra _is than I do apparently, and he isn't keen on his wife going there without him.

"You're coming too, my man. I know better than to try and outshine Alice … she's the star tonight, we're just along for the ride as her boy toys."

Jasper grumbles a bit but follows me to the suit shop and we pick up the fancy outfits we'll need for the roles we'll be playing tonight.

I spend the day with Jas and Alice while they make arrangements for someone to watch the tea shop tonight. I make my call to Dr. C while Alice is getting ready. I tell him about the poison and he is vastly more interested than Edward was. I end up putting Jas on the phone and they chat for almost a quarter hour about the effects of the poison on the body and what the good doctor should be looking for. If they weren't on opposite ends of the law, they'd likely be great friends.

Just after eight, Alice comes down from the upstairs apartments looking like a million dollars. Her skin tight, golden gown hugs her from her shoulders all the way down to her knees where it flares out until it hits the floor. The gown sparkles as she descends the steps and she swings her pearls a little for effect as she looks at her husband.

"You like, Jazzy?" she asks quietly.

"Oh yeah," he murmurs.

"You boys don't look half bad yourself," she says, coming down the rest of the stairs in a hurry and walking over to us. "You just need some help with those ties. The tails were a nice touch … good job."

"It was Em's idea," Jas says as she fixes his tie. "He wanted everything perfect."

"I just bet he did," she whispers and walks over to me. "Wouldn't you like her to see you now?"

I just look at her because, really, how do you answer that? She already knows more than is reasonable about my feelings just because she's Alice. I sigh and hold out my arm to her.

"Ready, doll?" I ask.

She threads one arm in mine and the other in Jasper's and we go out to my waiting car. It isn't the best, but we'll leave it far enough away that it won't be an issue. Once they see Alice, no one is going to worry about little things like cars.

As I expect, Alice steals the show. As soon as we walk in, the maitre d' is falling all over himself to escort her to her table and give her everything she wants. Alice is just _on_ tonight, sparkling all over the place and turning heads everywhere she goes. I steal a look at Jas and see how proud he is of her. I can't blame him; she's damn impressive when she wants to be.

It isn't long before the big man himself, or the man I assume to be the big man, comes strolling over to our table. He's dripping importance and affluence as he walks through the restaurant, tables quieting as he passes. Everyone looks to see where he'll go and no one looks surprised to see him standing in front of our table, looking hungrily at Alice.

Three small women flank him: a redhead, a brunette, and the palest looking blonde I've ever seen. Her hair is nearly white it's so light and her eyes are an unearthly shade of violet. She is both strikingly beautiful and dangerous to look at … she can make a man want things just by looking at him the right way. Her skin is clear and she has the ageless look about her that comes from great care and pampering. She might be fifteen or twenty five; I can't tell.

The blonde's arm is wrapped possessively around the man's right arm and she seems to lean into him as they walk. The redhead walks on his other side and the brunette brings up the rear. They are all dressed in revealing, flapper-type dresses that are designed from the finest fabrics. Both the man and the girl look Jas and I up and down before passing over us for Alice.

"My dear Ms. Brandon," the man says. "Please excuse my manners at not having received you at the door … someone on my staff made the grave mistake of neglecting to inform me of your arrival. I assure you, it will never happen again."

"You can say that again," Alice says in a chipper, light voice.

The blonde looks horrified at Alice's tone and hisses in a breath but the man cackles in amusement.

"Such a lovely specimen," he says finally, looking her up and down again. "Why haven't we made each other's acquaintance before?"

"I've been here and there," Alice responds, "but I'm here now."

She drops a not-so-subtle wink at him and he chuckles again.

"Indeed you are. And at the _Volterra Room_, we aim to ensure that you _never_ wish to go anywhere else."

"How … eager of you," Jas mutters.

The man eyes him unpleasantly before turning back to Alice.

"Your beauty is making me forget my manners again, Ms. Brandon. I am Aro Carpino, the owner of this establishment, and these are my girls, Chelsea, Rennie, and Jane."

He sighs over the last name and she looks up at him in adoration. Their low cut revealing dresses allow me full access to ogle their skin. They are all branded, like Bella was, with his initials. I wonder whether they knew her … or whether they knew Royce, Sam, or Chuck.

"You've finished with your meal," he says. "Come, let me introduce you to the wonders of _Volterra_. We have many treasures here that only the crème de la crème get to enjoy. You certainly qualify, my dear Ms. Brandon."

Alice nudges me and I allow her to slip out and take his waiting hand. Jas is seething next to me, but I know that Alice has this under control.

"Alice, Mr. Carpino, please … call me Alice."

"Only if you would call me Aro," he murmurs and brings her fingers to his lips.

Jas makes a strangled sound in his throat and I worry that he's going to ruin everything, but Aro is simply captivated by Alice and ignores him.

"Do you wish to bring your men?" he asks off-handedly. "Or might you permit me to be your escort for the evening?"

"Oh, I can't leave my boys behind," she says with a laugh. "They're such good fellas … I want them to have a good time too!"

"Right," he says sourly. "Just the way then. Your bill will be taken care of."

Alice smothers him in platitudes as we get up and walk behind them. Without a word, the redhead, Chelsea, and the brunette, Rennie, take each of our arms in theirs and we walk behind Aro, Alice and Jane. The entire room stops eating and looks at us as we walk through the joint and I try to act casual. We walk behind the bar and down a corridor before we come to large black door with a scrawny boy sitting in front of it.

He scrambles up at the sight of his boss, but his eyes rest on the little blonde. She barely looks at him and I start to feel sorry for the poor sap. Maybe a jilted lover? Maybe this would have been Edward if Bella hadn't wanted to come with him; I've no doubt that the man would have tried to stay near her.

I realize the boy is much older than I originally thought, perhaps nearing thirty, but with the same strangely young-looking skin as Jane. Even odder, I notice they have the same color hair. It's only then that I realize the boy must be Jane's brother. Well, that makes sense, I guess. Aro took both kids in at some point and put the brother to the only use he could find for him. I'd think it was kind if I didn't already know what he did to the girls.

"Alec," Aro says icily. "These people are my guests and they will have access to whatever they want. Understood?"

"Y-yes sir," Alec replies.

He opens the door for us and Aro, Alice and Jane slide through. We follow and I watch the redhead on my arm give Alec a dirty look as we pass him. Alec ignores her, watching after his sister as she floats through the sea of people on Aro's arm. The door closes on his watchful eyes, closing him off from the action inside.

All around me are noises, colors, and smells. Women in various states of undress, dripping in diamonds and pearls, carry drinks and food around the massive room. I see the mayor and some other politicians mingling in the crowd with topless women on their arms. It's a menagerie of debauchery and my eyes don't know which direction to look in first. Aro is steering Alice over toward one of the table games, blackjack from the look of it. Already, she has a martini glass in her hand and she looks more than interested in whatever drivel Aro is whispering in her ear.

Jas looks as though he's in pain, but I'm not worried about Alice. She's too comfortable right now for me to worry that anything might happen. I know Alice will be the first to know. She's pointing and gesturing with Aro animatedly and I overhear my name. Aro lets out a burst of laughter before nodding his head.

"It's the man's birthday, Janey … show him the _best_ time."

My eyes widen in horror at Alice, wondering what in the hell she could be thinking, but she looks back at me coolly. I can almost hear her telling me just to trust her … and so I do, taking the little blonde's arm in mine and flashing a winning smile at her.

"So, big boy," she breathes as she takes my arm, "what can I do you for?"

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**_A/N: A huge thank you to izzzysprinkles for pinch beta-ing this chapter today. Love you for that! Also, my girls bookjunkie1975 and swimom7, thank you for your time in pre-reading this chapter. I appreciate it!_**

**_Thoughts? At this point in the story all of the major players have been introduced. I'm not going to throw you for a loop and only introduce the murderer in the last paragraph of the last chapter or anything. LOL I'm thinking there are probably two more chapters for this story. So ... what are your theories and guesses? I want to hear them all! Hope you are all still enjoying! Thanks! ~Jen_**


	4. Strychnine

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I don't own Twilight, or Emmett, or the detective genre. I do, however, have a five year old with a wicked attitude that could rival Rose any day._

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Jane walks me around the room, her little body pressing up against my side as we walk. I can't imagine she's at all attracted to me and I'm certainly not feeling any love for her. But we keep up appearances. She walks me around to the game tables. I lay out some dough and I let her blow on the dice for me. She giggles and cheers and I pretend to be smitten. It's all part of a game.

As we walk around, I feel Alice's eyes on my every move. I look over to where she is playing her role with Aro and she avoids meeting my eyes, but I know that she's still keeping tabs on everything. Again, she astounds me. I have every confidence in her ability to keep everything stable. Jasper, on the other hand, is completely losing his shit behind her. Alice's body is wrapped as tightly around Aro's arm as Jane's body is glued to mine. I can't imagine seeing her like that is doing anything good for him. But again, I'm sure Alice will handle it all.

"So, Em? You don't seem to like these table games much … how's about we find a private place to have some fun?" Jane murmurs as I pull in another win from the blackjack table.

"Time alone with you?" I whisper, leaning down to her ear. "Sounds like I just hit the jackpot."

She giggles coquettishly and I wonder, not for the first time, just how old she really is. The thought of keeping up a charade like this, even for show, with a kid makes me sick in the stomach. I push down the bile, however, and walk with her across the floor toward the door we came in.

"We just have to go through this door and I can take you to the private apartments," she says as we reach the door.

I open the door for her and Jane's near mirror image jumps out of his chair. His eyes are immediately suspicious as they travel over his sister's arms wrapped tightly around mine.

"What's the news, Janie?" he asks, his voice quiet as his eyes rake over me. "Any trouble?"

"No," Jane says, her voice like ice. "I want champagne and fruit in my room. Make it snappy. It's my _friend's_ birthday and I want everything _perfect_."

Her fingers tighten on my forearm and she leads me away from Alec. I feel the kid's eyes on my back as we walk away from him and I can almost feel the anger and helplessness too. I'm sure the kid is Jane's brother, probably her twin. I can't imagine what it does to him seeing her like _this_ every night of the week with a different guy or two every time.

"Any problem with the little guy?" I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Nah," she says, her fingers rubbing circles against my suit jacket. "He's … nothing."

Her voice is loud. Too loud. I know that the kid must have heard her. A few seconds later, a door bangs behind us as we continue down the hallway.

"He'll be fine," Jane says and I realize she's talking more to herself and she is to me. "He's always fine."

She leads me through a door and we go up a flight of stairs. Once there, I see that we are on a floor with several separate apartments. These must belong to the girls who do Aro's bidding. The walls are covered with pieces of art depicting the sexual act. Naked men and women, women pleasing other women, and men seeking pleasure with other men … it's clear to me from the pictures what goes on behind these doors. In fact, there's no way you can mistake what this place is.

"I'm at the end," she says. "Right … here."

She opens the door to her room and flicks on a light. It's a larger room than I expect, probably the largest on the hallway. The carpet is deep purple shag, almost black, and the walls are lilac with black print on them. All of the lamp shades are covered with sheer purple draping, giving the room a muted feel. The largest object in the room and its center point is, of course, the bed.

It's dripping with black and lavender velvet, hung with onyx jewels on the head board. Jane lives a privileged life in the brothel and it speaks volumes to me about what she must mean to Aro. She probably makes him most of his income, at least in the sex trade. I wonder what kind of life she leads _outside _of the brothel. I know it can't be as luxurious as this room is. Girls like Jane don't get to keep their spoils in their everyday lives. This is strictly business; the rest of her life would likely be something very different.

"Welcome," she purrs, closing the door.

I stand in the center of the room, realizing for the first time that I'm on my own. Alice isn't going to sit on the headboard and tell me how to run my investigation. And I need to be smart. If Jane catches on to my gig here, she'll run squealing to Aro and I'll likely find myself gutted in the alley before I knew where I was. Cats like Aro don't take kindly to questions.

"Wow," I say. "These are some fancy digs, baby. That picture … it original?"

She follows where my finger is pointing with her eyes and then she smiles. It's a sweet, innocent smile and I immediately know that the picture has meaning to her. It's a man and woman kissing before or after sex, but it's classier than the lewd pictures I saw in the hallway. This picture doesn't show any skin really. It captures love, not lust or sex. And I can tell even in the dim light that it's an original. I wait, hoping Jane will tell me its story and after a long sigh, she does.

"Yeah," she says, sitting on the edge of the bed. "It's a Lautrec. I got it the summer after I turned sixteen when I studied in France. It was the first gift Aro ever gave me."

"The first of many," I observe, looking around her room at the opulence on display.

"Aro rewards those who bring him luck and wealth. I've brought him both over the years."

"How long you been with him?" I ask casually, loosening my tie as I speak.

"Almost ten years," she says. "Feels like my whole life."

From the look of her, it probably is _most _of her life at the very least. I peg her as about twenty-five at the very most, but she could easily pass as under eighteen. I soothe myself with the knowledge that she's likely an adult if she's been with him for ten years. Aro doesn't strike me as the kind of daddy who likes to play with kids.

"You said you studied in France? That's something, alright," I say.

"It is … but enough about me."

She stands up and she walks slowly over to me, her silver fringed flapper dress whispering as she walks. When she stands in front of me, the top of her head barely comes to the middle of my chest. She's tiny, delicate, and I feel dirty just having her look at me. Her pale, fragile fingers inch up my shirt and she wraps the end of my loosened tie around her hand. Slowly, steadily she pulls the tie off and throws it behind her. I'm about to grab her hand to still her, find some excuse to stop her when we're interrupted by a loud thumping on the door.

"Hold that thought," she murmured, placing one finger on my lips and turning away.

When her head is turned, I shudder. I have no idea what to do in order to get out of this without hurting her feelings or, worse, tipping her off.

Alec stands awkwardly in the hallway holding a tray laden with fruit and carrying two bottles of champagne.

"It's about time, _Alec_," Jane says as she leans against the door and gestures for him to come in.

"Sorry," he mutters. "The kitchen was busy."

"Likely story," Jane says.

I dig in my pocket and pull out a five.

"Thanks, kid," I say as he sets down the tray.

I reach over and I try to hand him the money. He looks at my hand like I'm about to knife him.

"I don't need _your_ money," he says, holding his hand out.

He starts backing out of the room, but Jane puts an arm around him in what's supposed to look like a friendly gesture, but I can see how tightly she grips his shoulder. The boy is in pain under her grasp.

"Now I know you didn't mean to insult my good friend Emmett by refusing his money, did you Alec?" Jane breathes icily.

"I don't need to take any of _his_ money," he says angrily. "Just leave it, Janie, okay?"

"No, I won't leave it," she says, her voice rising in her anger. "You will learn to show our customers respect or you'll soon find yourself out of a job."

Alec pulls away from his sister and stares at her with mingled disgust and sadness.

"You've been saving my ass for years, Jane," he mutters. "That's never going to change and we both know it."

He turns and walks quickly out the door, slamming it behind him. Jane's body is turned away from me, but I can see the blush of anger rising up her neck. She's embarrassed, yes. But more than that, I can see she's frightened. I can read it in the stiff way she holds her back, the way it takes her too long to turn around. When she does, her eyes are wide and darting. She thinks I'm angry and she thinks I'm going to hurt her. Unfortunately, that's good for me, because it means she might talk more.

I'm still holding the bill in my hand. I rub it back and forth between my fingers before I curl my lips up and put it back in my jacket. I need to breathe evenly or else I'll start to sweat and she'll catch on.

"So … brother dearest doesn't like your job, eh?"

"Brother?" she asks. "How did you – what do you mean?"

"Oh, I know lots about you, sweetie. There's a reason Ms. Brandon chose _you_ for my birthday gift."

I wink at her and my stomach churns. I hate that I can see fear growing in her eyes, but I play on it anyway.

"I've had my eye on you for a while, _Janie_," I say, imitating her brother's voice.

"I – well, that's just so flattering," she whispers.

"Yeah, I have a few friends who say you're just the cat's meow, baby – that I'll never find another doll like you. So I _had_ to have you."

"Friends?" she asked.

"Yeah … maybe you know them. Sam?" I say, walking quietly over to where she's standing. "Sam Uley?"

I watch her shudder and I know. She knows the scum and after seven years, his memory still makes her shudder. Not surprising since his name did the same to Bella earlier in the day.

"He's gone," she squeaked, looking down now. The fire I had seen in her eyes was gone and the only thing left were the cold embers of fear. "He's dead."

"Yeah, for a while now. But he's not the only one who talked about you. Chuck said you were just _delicious._"

She shivered.

"Chuck," she said tonelessly. "That's a common name."

"Oh, but you know Chuck. Chuck Evers. He said he was your favorite."

This is dangerous territory. I don't even know for sure if she knows these cats. I could easily slip and she would see right through me. For the time being, however, it seems I'm doing well.

"Ch-chuck. Right. I remember him. You have a lot of dead friends."

Her eyes flash up to mine and I stare coldly at her.

"Chuck's dead?" I ask. "Hmm. That's funny. I knew he blew town a while back but I didn't know he was dead."

"I – well, he hasn't been around," she says, looking at her hands as she wrings them together. "I guess I just assumed …"

She's lying. She _knows._ I know that Charles Evenson is dead, but I still have no proof that he and Chuck Evers were one in the same. This might be my break.

"I – You're making me all confused," she says.

"Shh, beautiful," I whisper and close the distance between us.

I run a finger down her cheek and stop at her chin. She's cowering now, looking me up and down in a new light as she measures my size next to hers. By the way her eyes continue to stare wide at me in fear, I guess she doesn't like what she comes up with. I hate this part of the job and all I want is to tell her she's got nothing to fear from me. But I know well enough that if she thinks I won't hurt her, she'll dummy up or run screaming. Either way, I won't get what I need. And right now, I'm too close to let it slip away.

"Why don't you just tell me what you know, Janie," I say as I lean toward the side of her face. "That way we can get on to _other_ things."

She shudders and my stomach turns, but I push on. I look into her eyes and I try not to show her any compassion. It's hard, but I do it. And before long, she starts talking.

"Chuck's dead," she says.

She looks nervously up at me and then over at her bed. I move just enough so that she can squeeze by me and she bolts across the room and sits on the bed, holding her arms tightly around her body and looking down at the carpet.

"Aro told me about a week after it happened. It was about three years ago now. I don't know who or how, but I wasn't sorry. Same as I wasn't sorry that Sam got his. They were both monsters. And if you were friends with them, you must be a monster too."

She looks up at me, her bottom lip jutting out as she uses the last drop of courage she has to stand up to me. She shocks me with the guts it must take to say that and I want to smile at her. Instead, I lay it on thick.

"Aw, baby. No need to call names. I'm just telling you about your many admirers. Perhaps your most vocal champion was Royce King. He just couldn't stop talking about you."

Her eyes shift up to mine and her bottom lip begins to tremble.

"Who are you?" she asks suddenly, her hands rubbing up and down her arms as though she's caught a chill. "What do you want?"

"Just some answers," I say coolly, though I'm feeling far from cool. She's getting suspicious. "Why do you call my associates such awful names?"

"Because they were awful people," she says, her lips twisting in anger. "I don't like to be reminded of the things they did."

She's looking down, but I can tell she's starting to cry. It's too much. I can't push her any farther and I think that maybe if I soften up to her, I can save this evening without having to run out of the place with my tail between my legs.

I walk over to where she's sitting and kneel down in front of her, pulling out a hankie from my pocket and handing it to her.

"Look, doll, I'm not like them," I say softly as she wipes away her tears. "I knew them, yeah. But that doesn't make me a monster like them."

"Then why are you here?" she asks. "Why are you saying their names if you aren't going to be like them?"

"Shit, baby, I didn't know what they were like _here_. Out in the real world, you got to know they were different. Royce especially. Who could've known what he did behind closed doors?"

She snorts softly into the hankie and shakes her head.

"You know he had a wife?" she asks quietly.

I wonder if she notices the way my body stiffens at the mention of Rosie. I don't want to think about her in this place, let alone wonder how a girl like Jane knows anything about Royce's straight life. Immediately, I'm inundated with worries. Did he bring Rose here? Was she somehow involved? I look up and see Jane staring at me, puzzling me out, and when she catches my eye, she continues.

"I saw her on the street once, arm and arm with her monster of a husband. God, she was beautiful. Young … she should have been vibrant and lively. But she wasn't. He'd killed her; I could see it. I felt bad for her; worse than I felt for myself even knowing that I'd have to deal with him later in the week. _She_ had to live with him."

I clear my throat and she looks back over at me.

"What's your take on his death?" I ask. "You think his pretty wife did it?"

She frowns, a line forming between her eyebrows.

"I wish for her sake that she did," she says harshly. "I wish that she had the strength to do it, but I've seen Royce in action. While he was alive, no one who knew him _intimately_ would cross him … if you know what I mean?"

I nod and I know my face reflects the anger that I feel. Jane didn't even really know Rose, but she had her pegged perfectly. Rosie didn't start living again until her husband was dead. But she wouldn't have been able to raise a hand in her own defense. Royce had ensured that. I almost wish I could find the killer now so I could shake his hand.

"Listen, Jane … neither one of us is in the mood for this. How's about we go back downstairs and dance?"

"But … Aro expects … if you're not satisfied …" she splutters, her face becoming red.

"Shh, baby … I'll tell him you were the best, alright?"

I look away uncomfortably as she wipes away her tears with my handkerchief. While she situates herself, I grab some fruit and open up the champagne, pouring out two glasses and dumping enough into a planter that people will think we had a very good time indeed.

She smiles at me when I look up.

"You're not a half bad fella," she says. "But you sure do ask some strange questions."

"Mama always said I was a curious boy," I say, holding out my arm and hoping she drops it.

"You know what they say about curiosity, Mr. McCarty," she replies, taking my outstretched arm and walking with me out the door. "It's a killer."

The rest of the night is a blur of colors, dancing, and drinks. We leave the Volterra room well after midnight with Aro's voice ringing in our ears that we must not make strangers of ourselves. We all know that he is only talking to one of us and Alice is quite gracious to him. It's only as we're walking to the car that I realize I never told Jane my last name.

I wake up the next morning, my head pounding from booze and lack of sleep. The phone at the side of my bed is ringing, but it takes me a while to make my hand move in order to pick it up.

"'Lo," I mumble.

"Where were you?" a clipped voice says on the other end of the line.

"Where was I when? Who the hell is this?"

"This morning. McCarty, this is Masen."

"Ugh, what time is it?" I ask, rubbing my hand over my eyes.

"After eleven," he says and pauses. "Rough night?"

"Yes. And no. You eat lunch?" I ask.

He snorts.

"I do. Leah's around one?"

"Fine. And Masen?"

"Yeah?"

"You sound like a fishwife when you're nervous."

He snorts again and I smile at the phone.

"Talk to you later, Em."

"Right. Bye, Edward."

I roll back onto the bed and rub the sleep out of my eyes. I don't know exactly how much help anything I got out of Jane last night was going to be to our investigation. But I'd learned over the years that two heads were almost always better than one.

Leah's diner is busier than it usually is as I walk in and drop into a booth. Both Leah and Bella look up as I walk in, nod to me and then look back down. I see Edward sitting in the same booth we sat in the day before.

"What a coincidence," I say wryly, and sit down.

"What did you get?"

"Not much," I say, shaking my head. "Aro is a cold cat to be sure."

"You talked to Aro?" he asks incredulously.

"My friend Alice talked to Aro, mostly. She was the star of the show and he was quite taken with her. She's the reason we got into the back room. I got to talk with one of the girls … her name was Jane."

"Did she have anything new?" he asks hopefully.

"Not especially," I say, "but she was able to confirm that Chuck Evers _is_ dead, not just disappeared. She said Aro told her not long after it happened. I couldn't ask her for an exact date, but she said it was about three years. That's consistent with the time frame on the Evenson murder."

"Still, not solid evidence."

"No, but the poison is pretty damning. If we find a suspect that works in this case, we might be able to make it stick on the other murders as well."

"True, but let's focus on _this_ murder for the time being," he says with a sigh. "Did Jane give you anything else?"

"She was scared to death of any mention of the three men's names. I can't even imagine what her experience with them must have been like."

His eyes flick over to Bella who is taking another customer's order and then back to me.

"I can't ask her to talk about what she went through," he says, "but I can ask her about Jane. If Jane was used by the men more than any of the other girls were, that's a pretty excellent motive."

I groan and look down.

"What?" he asks.

"Convicting her would be almost as bad as convicting one of the wives," I say immediately. "Tell me you're not just a little happy that someone did away with the scum that marked your girl's arm up."

"I'm glad the slime is out of her life, but it's not up to me to decide how or when he goes. Look, if Jane made the decision to off these guys, well, unfortunately, she still needs to serve her time."

"You know that no judge or jury would have pity on a prostitute, Edward."

"Then we can only hope it's someone else."

"What if it was Bella?" I ask quietly.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. What if the evidence led us to Bella. All three of the victims hurt her in some way. That's motive. What if it was her? Would you be so cavalier about her serving her time?"

"It wasn't Bella," he said adamantly.

"I'm not saying it was. I'm asking what you'd do if it _was_ Bella."

He sighed deeply and put his head in his hands.

"I'd … come forward and say I did it. I couldn't let her go to jail."

"Noble, but not exactly letting the criminal serve their time, is it?" I ask.

He doesn't answer, only shakes his head.

"I have a date with Bella this afternoon," he says. "I'll talk to her about Jane and call you as soon as I know anything. In the mean time, it wouldn't hurt to ask Ms. Hale if anyone from the Volterra room frequented their home. The other two victims both lived in areas where anyone could get in, inject the poison in them, and be out the door before anyone was the wiser. Royce, on the other hand, lived with almost constant supervision. The Kings needed to let the killer in somehow."

"I'll go over there today," I promise. "I also need to check in with the doctor … see if he's come up with any injection sites in the body. We still don't know how the killer managed to get the poison into the body."

"When can I call you?" he asks. "I'm not keen on calling the King house."

"Right. I'll be at my place by nine. Call me there."

I drive to Rosie's place without calling, eager to see her and frustrated with how eager I am. I know I'm close to solving this case—too close to go screwing the case up with feelings.

I'm surprised when Rosie opens the door herself. She looks worn out and tired when she invites me in and I can't help the worry that creeps over me.

"You should have called," she says, gesturing toward the living room. "Now isn't the best time."

"Why? What's wrong?"

She sighs and pulls out her cigarette case. Once her fag is lit, she smiles coldly at me.

"You don't care about my sob story," she says after a deep drag.

She's sitting on the long couch and I'm dying to walk over and wrap her in my arms. It's wrong. It's all wrong, and yet something in me says that it's right too. I settle for half way and sit down next to her, close enough that I can touch her if I want to.

"Yeah, I do care."

"My dear father-in-law pulled the plug on me," she says blandly. "He came over today with scores of movers and removed all of the most expensive art pieces, as well as all of the servants. He said since I was going to be convicted of killing his boy, he didn't feel the need to make me comfortable. I checked … there's a freeze on my bank account now too."

"Are you … okay? Did he leave you with … food, clothes?"

"Oh, yeah, he didn't _dare_ to touch my things. I came to my marriage fairly well off, Em. He can't take what was already mine, but the King money was truly never ending. I'm just not used to being completely alone."

I reach over and her hand seems to be waiting for mine. She grabs hold of my fingers as soon as they're close.

"You're not alone, Rosie."

We're already sitting close, but once our fingers are entwined, I can't seem to get close enough to her. She stubs out her butt in the ashtray and then eases herself closer, looking up at me.

"You ought to stay away from me," she purrs. "Girls like me have a reputation."

"Tried that," I whisper, bringing my hand up to the side of her face. "Didn't work out very well."

I brush the tips of her curls and they're like spun gold under my fingertips. When our lips meet, it's only soft and tentative for an instant. Her fingers move from my hands up to my forearms, clutching me tightly. I respond by pressing my lips harder against her and she opens her mouth to me. It's everything I've been waiting for with her and I want it all.

We both pull away, our breathing unsteady and our eyes a little unfocused. She laughs and it breaks the tension in the air. She leans her forehead against mine and the connection there is undeniable.

"Well," she whispers. "You could have just said you missed me."

It's now my turn to laugh.

"I've been trying not to think about that," I say honestly. "It isn't working so well."

"I'm not saying you shouldn't think about it," she says, pulling away, "but I'm also not saying you should."

"I know," I say and get up. It's easier to think when I'm further away from her. "There are a few things I need to ask you."

"Oh?" she asks, leaning back into the chair.

"I told you I linked your husband to two other men who were killed with the same poison. I now know they were business associates and they all have ties to an exclusive club called The Volterra Room. Ring any bells to you?"

"Yes, Royce and I ate dinner there many times. Although I wouldn't call it a club. They didn't even have dancing."

My heart settled. She had never been in the back room.

"The Volterra Room is more than meets the eye and it is far more than just a single room. The real show happens after dinner when you're invited into the back room for gambling, dancing, and other pursuits."

"Other pursuits? You mean like sex?" she asks.

"Well," I clear my throat. "If that is what you're interested in, the Volterra Room won't disappoint."

"So … Royce visited prostitutes?" she asks numbly.

"I don't – I can't be sure. But he likely had dealings with them and at least got income from the sex trade."

She rolls her eyes up to the ceiling and sighs as she starts shaking her head.

"That bastard," she murmurs. "Excuse me. I'm going to need a drink. Can I get you one? A whiskey maybe?"

I nod and she disappears for a moment. When she comes back she's holding two glasses and hands one to me. We salute each other without saying anything and take a sip.

"I'm fine now. Go on. What do you need to know from me?"

"I need to know if there was anyone that your husband employed recently that might have been linked to this Volterra Room. Anyone at all. Maybe a maid, kitchen help, a secretary … can you think of anyone who maybe didn't go through Royce's usual hiring process?"

"You're thinking women?" she asks, running her finger around the edge of the glass.

"Possibly, but not solely. Man, woman, child … Rosie, I just need to know if anyone was in this house that could have injected the poison."

Rosie is quiet while she thinks and I watch her. Her lips are pursed in thought and her brow is slightly furrowed. I want to smooth it out, ease her worry.

"Come to think of it, he did have a new courier in the past several months," she says. "Alec was his name. Pale boy … needed to get out and get some sun. And quiet. Boy was afraid of his own shadow."

My heart begins to race as I see the lines all coming together into one, perfect picture.

"And he's the only one? No one else that you can think of?"

"Royce was very particular. All of our staff had been with him since before I married him. Alec was the only one who was new."

I walk over to her and take her by the shoulders.

"This is very important … has Alec been back since Royce was killed? Has he been anywhere near you or anything you eat or drink?"

Her eyes are wide and I know she can sense my fear.

"No," she whispers. "No. He was here … he came the night Royce was murdered. I saw him come in, but I … I didn't stay. You think?"

I kiss her again, hard, pulling her close to me and feeling her warm and safe in my arms one more time.

"I'm not certain, but yes. I think he might be the one."

"You can't leave me here. I'm all alone now. What if he comes back?"

Her voice is so much different now than it was the first time I talked to her in my office. This is real fear in her voice. And she is truly alone. She's right. I can't leave her.

"Pack a bag. I have a couch I can sleep on. You'll be safe at my place."

She falls against my chest and begins to sob softly for a moment before pulling herself together and taking a deep breath. Again she astounds me with the way she is able to process all of this. She walks out of the room after squeezing my fingers and I realize how happy I am, knowing that I'll be protecting her tonight.

We're back at my place before five and Rosie insists that she'll make us dinner. While she's cooking, I make my call to the morgue in the hopes of catching Dr. C. I'm in luck and he picks up on the third ring.

"Dr. C," I say. "I haven't heard from you. I wanted to know if there was any news."

"Emmett. Good to hear from you. I looked for the things you asked for and it was difficult, but I found something that might be interesting."

I pull out my pen and paper and get ready.

"You see, I could find no evidence of any puncture wounds anywhere on the body … until I opened up the victim's throat. It seems the killer placed minuscule barbs in the tea—it would have felt scratchy to the victim, like the beginnings of a sore throat—and when the barbs pierced the flesh, the poison was delivered directly to the blood stream. It was genius, really. I never would have found the puncture wounds."

"Thanks doc. So I'm after an evil genius. That really narrows it down."

"You're after someone who knows their poisons and who is extremely clever. Be careful, Emmett. The killer has gotten very good and has gotten away with this for a long time. He or she is cocky in the stability of the plan. Cocky and deadly can be a very dangerous combination."

"Will do, doc. Thanks so much again."

I hang up the phone and Rosie is leaning against a wall with a dish towel in her hand staring at me. She looks so right in my home; I don't ever want her to leave.

"Who was that?" she asks after a moment.

"The doc. He gave me the cause of death."

"I thought you already had that," she says walking over to me. "You said it was some rare poison."

"Right … but we didn't know how it was delivered. Curare, the poison that killed Royce, can only be delivered through an injection."

"So someone stuck him with something."

"No, it was in the tea like we first suspected. Someone put tiny barbs in the tea that pierced his throat, injecting the poison."

Her hands cover her throat and she swallows hard.

"That sounds … awful. Torturous."

"Jas, my friend who knows poisons, said that it wouldn't have taken long."

I lie to her, knowing that she doesn't need to hear that he was conscious as his breathing shut down and right up to the end. I could care less and I realize I'm happy that the monster suffered.

She nods.

"Dinner is almost ready. You have a paltry stock. Tomorrow you will let me go shopping and I'll make you a real dinner."

Her eyes are slanted down and her lips are curled just slightly. She's blushing and I worry that she might be embarrassed. I know this woman is proud and strong and I don't want to step all over that. I walk over and kneel in front of her.

"I want you here," I say quietly. "I'd want you here whether there was danger or not, Rosie. Look at me."

I use my finger to lift her chin up and she looks at me with her blue eyes full of questions.

"I want to be here too," she says. "But I don't like being scared. You scare me almost as much as this crazy person. I don't know what to think about you."

I chuckle and look down.

"You don't need to be frightened of me, baby," I say softly. "You had me wrapped around your little finger from the moment you sashayed into my office."

I pull her close to me and hold her. Just holding her close and knowing that she wanted me to was enough.

"Come on, Em," she murmured into my chest. "The pasta will burn."

She walks out of the room and toward the kitchen but I'm stopped by the phone. It's early, but I assume it's Edward calling with an update.

"McCarty," I say.

"Um … Mr. McCarty. This is Alec … from The Volterra Room."

I look up and Rosie is standing staring at me.

"Hello, Alec," I say as I look at her. "What can I do for you, son?"

Rosie brings her hand up her mouth when she hears who's on the other line.

"Mr. Carpino asked me to call you," he says nervously. "He was … very impressed with your friend Ms. Brandon and he wants to make himself … useful. He asked me to offer you my services."

"Shouldn't you be calling Ms. Brandon then?" I ask.

"Well," he hedges, "Mr. Carpino said to call you. I just do what I'm told."

"Right," I say, pulling out my notebook. "What services are you offering?"

"Anything," he says immediately. "Mr. Carpino likes his friends to be … taken care of."

"I bet," I say. "Why don't you come over tomorrow around … two? We'll see what we can work out."

Rosie is shaking her head furiously, but I hold up my hand.

"Right. Thank you so much, Mr. McCarty."

"Anytime, son. Oh, and Alec?" I say quietly. "Tell that pretty sister of yours I said hey, alright?"

I can almost hear him grinding his teeth in anger.

"Will do," he says and hangs up the phone loudly.

I hang up the phone and Rosie is in my face immediately.

"Are you insane? Inviting him here? Are you trying to prove how brave you are, because you can just stop! And who the hell is his sister?"

I grab her hands and hold them for an instant until she quiets.

"Shh," I say softly. "He doesn't want you. It's me. If I had to wager a guess, he doesn't even know what I do."

"Then …?" she asked, plainly confused.

"We'll have to be ready. Go on and get dinner out. I need to talk to a friend about tomorrow."

She turns and starts to walk away but stops.

"Who was the girl, Em?" she asks.

"Her name is Jane," I say softly. "And she's nothing but a scared kid who needs someone to look out for her."

She turns around and there are tears in her eyes.

"And you can't help yourself, can you?"

I smile at her and shake my head.

"There's only one woman I'm interested in and her name ain't Jane, okay?"

She nods and turns away.

"Better stay that way for a long time, buddy."

I chuckle.

"It will."

I flip through my notebook and find Edward's number. He picks up on the end of the first ring.

"Masen," he says hurriedly.

"Edward, it's Em."

"We need to look at the brother," he says immediately. "Bella says …"

"He called me," I interrupt him. "He wants to 'help me out.'"

"What? What did you do?"

"I set up a meeting with him … here … tomorrow at two."

"Shit, Em. You think he's going to try to off you too? What'd you do to his sister?"

"Really, Edward, your confidence is just astounding. I didn't do anything to his sister, but he thinks I did. It was part of the show."

"Bella says that Jane has it the worst in Volterra and that Alec is crazy with guilt that she puts herself through all of that. She thinks that if anyone is killing people to protect the women of Volterra, it's Alec."

"He worked for Royce and Rosie remembers him being there the night he died."

"Shit," he says again. "Rosie?"

"Shut up," I say softly with a snicker in my voice.

"Nah, I get it. She's not alone tonight, is she?" he asks.

Immediately, he goes up a notch in my book for thinking of her well-being.

"No, she's safe."

"Good. Are you?"

"Yeah … I am."

"I'll call you in the morning with the plan. Find a place that Ms. Hale can be for the afternoon; she shouldn't be around when this goes down."

"I have a place for her," I say, immediately thinking of Jas and Alice.

We hang up and I find Rosie in the kitchen sobbing softly over the sink. I wind my hands around her waist and she leans back against me.

"It's going to be fine. I won't let anything happen to you," I say into her hair.

"I'm not worried about me," she says, sniffing loudly.

"What then?" I ask.

"Who's going to take care of you?"

I laugh and run my hand over her fingers.

"For now, I'm going to take care of me. Maybe after I clear this up, you'd be up for the job?"

She snorts and whips around with her towel. But there's a sparkle in her eye when she smacks me that makes me think she wouldn't be opposed to the position at some point in time.

* * *

**_A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Do you think it's Alec, or do you think there are more twists ahead? Only one more chapter left. I've got to say, I'm going to miss the big guy. Which is why I'm glad that I won't have to leave him entirely! I'll be participating in the 35 days of Emmett hosted by the lovely Hmonster4. I can't wait ... PI Emmett might make a comeback just for that! ;) Thanks so much for joining me on this journey. I'd love to hear from you! ~Jen_**


	5. Curare

**_Disclaimer_**_: You know the drill; SM owns all, even me. I own nothing except a crap load of hard boiled detective stories!_

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"You'll love Alice," I say, my arms around Rose's waist, "as long as she doesn't drive you crazy first."

She giggles and buries her head under my chin.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"It's nothing, baby. Just doing my job."

"Not for the job, Em," she says, looking up at me, "for the rest."

I look around us and see the room empty so I pull her tighter. Her eyes are heavy as I bring my face closer to hers. There's electricity in our kiss, desperation and unspoken fears. We kiss until Jasper makes his presence known by clearing his throat. I have a nearly uncontrollable urge to strangle him, but refrain and kiss Rose again, this time gently on her forehead.

"I'll see you later today," I say.

"Promise me," she whispers.

I chuckle and tilt her chin up with my index finger.

"I promise I'll see you later today," I murmur. "Don't worry, Rosie. This is all going to be over soon."

Walking away from her is the hardest thing I've ever done. I can almost feel her fear holding me back, willing me to stay with her so that she doesn't lose the only person she's grown to trust. I hate it. I hate that I'm making her worry and I hate that I can't say anything to calm her fears. But I know that I can _do_ something about it and that's what keeps me moving.

Masen is waiting for me outside and I sidle up to him as I light my fag.

"Where's Bella?" I ask.

"She wasn't feeling well this morning," Edward says. "She's staying at my apartment with two of Leah's cousins, sleeping on the couch."

"Smart," I say.

"It was Leah's idea," he says with a shrug. "When I told her that stuff might be going down today, she wasn't keen on Bella being anywhere that Aro's boys might think to look for her."

"I'd trust Leah and her family with my life," I say.

"I already am," he murmurs and turns away. "Ms. Hale will stay put?"

"Yeah, of course," I say, confused. "Why do you ask?"

"I've seen her look at you and it doesn't take a genius to know she cares. If she's worried about you, she might try something stupid."

"Not Rosie," I say after a moment's thought. "She's worried, but she's smart. She knows that this isn't the place for her right now."

"You think you telling her to stay put is going to keep her where you want her?" he asks with a smirk. "You have a lot to learn about dames."

"Nah," I say with a smile. "Ain't nothing would keep her put if she thought she could do us any good. But she knows the score."

He nods and inhales deeply.

"Ready?" he asks.

"What's our plan?" I ask as we walk away from Jas's tea shop.

"We're going to your apartment. My partner, Black, will meet us there."

"Partner?" I ask, immediately suspicious. "You're bringing another uniform into this? Is he … down with this?"

"Don't worry about Jacob," he says with a chuckle. "Kid's completely wet behind the ears, but he's as eager as a puppy. He's the one who's been back at the department keeping your name out of all of our documents. He's down with this and he'll be a help."

"Wet behind the ears doesn't give me tons of faith, Edward."

"Being new doesn't mean he's not good at his job," he says. "Trust me not to futz this up, okay?"

"I don't have much choice, I guess. What happens once we're all cozy in my apartment and the kid shows up?"

"You invite him in and Jacob and I wait. You're really going to be doing most of the work here, my friend. When the show's over and we have what we need, Jake and I just need to call in the cavalry."

"Right," I say with a frown.

"You know this is your show," he says. "No one knows more than me that this wouldn't be going down if you hadn't agreed to help. It'll all be in my official report of the situation."

"You do that, you're liable to get yourself a suspension."

"Doubt it," he says with a smile. "They won't suspend the DA's son too quickly. Besides, they need to know who's behind this."

"DA's son, huh?" I say. "I never made the connection. You're Tony Masen's son."

"Yeah," he says, his cheeks coloring. "I don't like to ride daddy's coattails, but in this case, I know I can take a little more heat than the next guy because of him. He's a good man."

His voice is defensive and I know that he must be thinking about his father's hand in both Rose's indictment and Esme Evenson's conviction.

"He followed the evidence the department gave him," I say. "He was doing his job. I don't hold it against him."

"He'll be the first to set things right if new evidence comes to light," he says passionately. "Mark my words—Father will set things right for Ms. Platt if he can."

"That'll mean a lot to me if it's possible," I say, still not holding much hope. It's nearly unheard of for cases like hers to be overturned.

We arrive outside my apartment and are greeted by a man who is almost as big as I am. He's tall and broad, but still manages to look as gangly as a teenager. When he sees us, he bounds over to us with a wide, guileless smile on his face.

"You must be Em," he says holding out his large hand. "Jacob Black. Been looking forward to shaking your hand."

I eye him warily as I shake his hand, but Edward just chuckles and punches his partner's shoulder.

"Let's go get set up," he says.

Up in the apartment, Edward rolls up his sleeves and starts moving furniture around in my place as soon as he's in there. I see what he's doing and start to help him, but the newbie just stands there until Edward clues him in.

"We need an unobstructed path through the apartment if things go bad," he explains calmly. "But we need to make it look natural like, you know? If things look arranged, the perp might get suspicious and we'll be left holding the phone like idiots."

"Oh," Jacob says and walks over to help Edward lift a couch out of the way.

"Good thing your landlord likes thin carpets, Em," Edward says with a grunt. "Saves us some effort in covering up the divots in the carpet."

"You don't miss much, do you?" I ask, rearranging a side table next to the couch.

"Details are important to me," he says. "They come in handy."

I think about my first impression of the man from his meticulous crime scene notes and wonder if I'll ever tell him about those. I know it's not likely. As much as I like working with him now, I know he's a department man. Regardless of how many rules he had to break in order to help me today, he won't take kindly to learning that I have my hands on sealed department memoranda. I decide to keep that to myself so as not to sour him to Rosie _or_ me. It might be helpful to keep a friend in the department.

The furniture is all arranged and Edward is finally happy with everything by noon. We sit around the apartment in an uncomfortable silence for what seems like ages. At half past one, Edward decides to move to the bedroom with Jacob. He has the phone in there and is ready to call the department at the first sign of trouble.

"Remember," I say as they're about to close the door. "The other door in that room leads to the hallway. If things get heavy, you know … get yourselves out."

"Yeah," Edward says with a sharp laugh, "'Cause we're going to let you have all the fun with the perp. Just do what you need to do. We'll be on the other side of the door if you need us."

He holds out his hand to me and I take it with a nod. I never would have thought it, but I'm happy to have him on my side. I sit in the living room, twiddling my thumbs and just waiting. I think about Rose and am happy she's safe. My mind drifts to Esme and I wonder how she'll be if she ever gets out. I know it's stupid to think about the future at a time like this, but I can't help the fact that the whole situation is making me hopeful.

At exactly two, there is a sharp knock on my door. I get up and listen cautiously, making sure Black and Masen are quiet in the next room.

"Just a second," I call out loudly. "I'll be right there."

There's no sound from the next room and I walk quickly to the door, looking out the peep hole. It's Alec and he looks almost sick, even through the hole.

"Alec, my boy," I boom loudly when I open the door.

The boy startles at the sound of voice, which is exactly what I wanted him to do.

"Come on in and we can discuss these arrangements you talked about," I say, clapping him roughly on the back.

I can feel that he isn't wearing a holster which only calms me slightly. If he _is_ my killer, his weapon of choice doesn't need a holster and it's just as likely that he's got his piece stuffed in his waistband. He looks around the hallway nervously before finally stepping into the apartment. I shut the door loudly behind him making him jump.

"You need to relax, Alec," I say with a laugh. "You look like a frightened cat the way you're jumping around."

"Sorry, sir," he says softly.

"What's the 'sir' business? I'm just Emmett," I say, gesturing to the living room couch.

"Yes, sir – I mean, Emmett," he says, stuttering.

He's standing uncomfortably in the living room and I'm becoming more confused by his actions. He's not acting angry enough to take me out. Nor is he cool and calculating. If his purpose is to go after me, he's got a long way to go. I realize I'm going to need to push his buttons a little bit.

"So why don't you tell me the _real_ reason you're here, Alec," I say, leaning back on couch and stretching my arms out.

His eyes widen and his face pales a little as his mouth opens and closes.

"I-I told you on the phone last night," he says, wringing his hands in front of him. "My boss said to help you out."

"I don't buy it, Alec," I say, shaking my head slowly. "Aro Carpino barely looked at me twice the other night. Why would he want me to be taken care of?"

"It's … I told you!" he says, his breathing picking up. "Ms. Bradley intrigued him."

"Brandon," I say quietly.

"What?" he asks, his eyes darting around the room and sweat popping out on his upper lip.

"Brandon," I say again. "Her name is Alice _Brandon_, not _Bradley_."

"Right," he murmurs. "Names are hard for me."

His hand shakes as he brings it up to his forehead and bangs lightly against his skull as if willing himself to remember something. All of my cop instincts are kicking in now. This kid can barely remember _his own_ name, let alone the name of his mark. He's not working alone.

"Who sent you here?" I ask, standing up and walking over in front of him.

"My boss," he says, looking up at me wide-eyed. "What can I do for you, s-s-sir, er … Emmett?"

"Who's your boss?" My voice is clipped and I'm leaning closer to him, invading his space and making him cower a little bit.

"You know my boss," he says, wiping his hand across his face.

"Tell me," I say.

"Aro Carpino is my boss."

"Like hell," I say and turn away from him.

Carpino wouldn't care a lick if a stiff like me lived or died. I hadn't made enough of an impression on him for him to even remember my name at the end of the night. There was only one person who knew I was asking questions about the dead men; only one person who remembered my name. _Jane_.

I whip around and see Alec holding a pistol in his shaking hands, pointed in my general direction.

"It could have been easier," he says, his voice low and shaky. "The poison makes it just like going to sleep."

I hear a soft thump in the next room and worry that the eager pup is going to come bounding through the door and get me shot. I wait just a second and don't hear anything further, trusting that Edward has collared him enough to make sure he stays put.

"Is that what she told you, buddy?" I ask, watching for his reaction. "Did Jane tell you that it was painless what you were doing?"

His eyes widen and he starts shaking his head, the gun waving back and forth in front of me.

"No, no, no," he says angrily. "She has nothing to do with this. It's me. All me."

"No it isn't," I say. "Why don't you put the gun down so we can talk about this? Let me tell you all about that nice, gentle poison your sister gave you to hand out."

He raises the gun up in the air and holds his head with his other hand.

"Stop saying that," he says. "Janie isn't part of this. _I_ thought it up. _I_ did this."

"If you thought it up, you'd know that the poison was nothing like going to sleep," I say calmly. "The tiny little thorns you put into the tea went down like little daggers in your victims' throats. Once the poison was injected, it shut down their lungs and their hearts, but their brains kept whirring. They were conscious as their bodies shut down, Alec. They were aware of _everything_. You tortured them to death."

"You expect me to care?" he wails. "About them? About you? You all tortured her and you _deserve_ it."

My description rattles him; I can see it in his face. He had been under the impression that he was putting men to sleep, not torturing them. He doesn't see himself as a monster like them and if I can play on that, convince him that he's been duped by his smarter sister who used his gullibility to get him to kill for her, maybe I can get them both.

I start walking slowly over to the couch, testing him.

"Don't move!" he screams thinly.

"I'm just sitting down," I say, continuing to move at a slow pace.

"I'm warning you," he says, the gun shaking wildly, "I'll shoot you if you keep moving."

"No," I say as I reach the couch. "You won't."

I sit down and stare up at him, his eyes closing against the sweat that's standing out on his brow. He wipes his brow with his arm and then tries to steady his gun.

"Just – don't move anymore," he says, his voice wavering.

"You're in too deep, kid," I say, crossing my arms across my chest and resting my ankle on my knee.

I look like a man at ease in my own living room, not someone with a gun pointed at him by an antsy trigger man. It's all a show because I know he could shoot me if a creaky floorboard spooks him, but I need to unnerve him if I want to get him to crack.

"You don't know me," he whispers as he walks closer to me. "You don't know nothing."

"I know you think you're helping your sister," I say. "Those men were monsters, I know that. And you think I'm just another one, don't you?"

"She told me what you made her do," he spat, centering the gun at my heart again. "You're a _freak_ and a _monster_ and you deserve to die just like the others."

"I'm a private detective, Alec," I say calmly. "I'm working for Rosalie King. The only thing I did to your sister was ask her some questions."

"You're lying!" he cries, cocking the hammer.

I hear another noise in the other room, this one quieter and I know it's Edward moving closer to the door. He's heard the gun.

"Do I look like I'm lying to you, Alec?" I ask, spreading my hands in front of me openly and staring him squarely in the eye.

"Jane wouldn't lie to me," he says, his eyes darting to the side.

"Do you believe that?" I ask, leaning forward as he jabs the firearm at me. "I don't think you do. I think you know how angry she was about what those men put her through. I think you know she'd do _anything_ to make sure she never had to see them again. Even sacrificing her poor, stupid brother."

"I'm not stupid!" he yelled.

"You're no genius either," I say, "but Jane is, isn't she? She's the one with the brains in this operation. Where'd you take your last vacation, Alec?"

He laughed harshly.

"What's a vacation?" he asks.

"Exactly," I say. "But I bet Jane got to go to all sorts of fancy places, didn't she?"

"She _earned_ those trips," he seethed. "She _needed_ to get away."

"Sure she did," I say comfortingly. "She got a taste of the good life for all her years of service."

"That's right," he says.

"And she got to learn new things," I say. "Jane likes to learn new things, doesn't she?"

"Always had her nose in the books," he says with a smile that turns cold. "At least before those men stole all her spark."

"But not her ingenuity," I continue for him and stand up. "Jane always had plans, didn't she?"

He's lost in thought and doesn't seem to notice that I'm inching closer to him.

"Janie had big plans," he says. "Dreams. This place killed them all."

He's looking down as he thinks about the woman she could have been if it wasn't for the men who beat her down.

"Where did Jane travel, Alec?" I ask him softly.

"All over the world," he whispers. "Europe was first when she was just a girl and then South America … later. She went anywhere she could. She said it was like a fairy tale."

_South America_, I think.

"When'd she go to South America, Alec?" I ask.

He looked up and his eyes narrowed on me, recognizing that I was far too close to figuring him out.

"I told you she didn't do this," he says angrily, brandishing the gun at me.

"I was just wondering if she got all the poison she needed in one trip, or if she went back each time," I say, stepping forward and grabbing his wrist, pointing the gun at the ceiling.

It goes off and plaster showers around us. I hear Edward and Jacob moving around in the next room and then I hear something completely unexpected. I hear the shrill sound of a dame screaming.

My heart lurches as I easily disarm Alec and wonder if Rose somehow talked Jasper into letting her come here. I hear the door in the other room open and Edward is shouting at someone to stay down, so I focus on Alec.

"You're done, buddy boy," I grunt as I twist his arm behind his back and push him up against a wall. "Just go limp; it won't hurt as much."

He's hissing and spitting at me like an angry snake, but he's disarmed and all noise. He can't get away from me now. I listen carefully to the scuffle out in the hallway and panic when I hear another shot fired. There's a louder scuffle and the sound of a woman screaming bloody murder before it all goes quiet.

"Oh, God," Alec is saying. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."

"What's your problem, huh?" I ask, pushing him harder against the wall to make him shut up.

"It's Janie," he whines. "She never trusts me. Now she's gone and got herself shot. Oh God, it's all my fault. If I was just smarter, she wouldn't have had to be here."

"Will you shut up so I can hear what's going on?" I yell at him.

He dummies up immediately and I strain to hear what's going on. I hear words being exchanged between Edward and Jacob, but Edward's voice sounds all wrong to me.

"Oh shit," I say, banging my head against the wall.

Jacob comes bounding into the room and as soon as he sees I'm looking at him, he tosses a set of cuffs at me. I see he's already got Jane in cuffs and she's spitting mad trying to claw her way out of his grasp.

"Cuff him," he says. "I'm calling for backup. Masen's been shot."

"Oh shit," I say again and turn back to the little runt I have pushed up against the wall.

He's laughing.

His high pitched squealing laughter sets me off and I don't think about what I'm about to do. Before I put the cuffs on him, I push him hard against the wall.

"That's for laughing at my friend," I growl at him.

"McCarty!" Edward calls out from the hallway, his voice a little too breathless, but still strong. "Don't mess him up too bad. They'll want him in one piece when he's arraigned."

I chuckle at him, but bang Alec's head into the wall one more time for good measure.

"I don't answer to the department, remember, Masen?" I call out to him as I secure the cuffs on the perp's wrists.

"Ow," he whines. "They're too tight."

"Deal with it," I say, towing him with me out into the hall. "Edward! Are you alright, man?"

"I'm fine," he says, leaning his head back against the wall. "She only got me in the shoulder. Feels like my whole arm is on fire though."

"Yeah," I say.

It worried me to see the amount of blood pouring out of the wound.

"Tell the damn ambulance to hurry up, Black!" I bark at him.

"I'll be fine, Em," Edward says with a smirk. "And you're still the bloody hero, even if I'm the one covered in blood."

"That's not funny," I say with a frown. "That wouldn't even be funny if you _weren't_ covered in blood."

"A man can try," he says with a wince.

I can hear the sirens and I know that they're finally coming. I push Alec toward the stairs, but Edward holds up his good arm.

"It'd be better if you stayed up here with us," he says. "It's going to be bad enough when I have to explain this mess. I don't want you to be the first face the chief sees holding a suspect in custody. It won't do you any good."

"They aren't going to try to hang me out to dry, are they?" I ask him with a frown growing on my face.

"Help me up," he says, holding out his good arm.

"I don't think that's a good…" I say, but he cuts me off.

"Help me up, dammit," he repeats.

I lean over and offer him my hand. He gets up unsteadily, but when he stands, he seems to stand firmly. It gives me some faith that he's going to be okay.

"They'll railroad you over my _badge_, Emmett. Do you hear me?" he says through tight lips.

I stare at him for a second, taking in his chalky pallor and his too-bright green eyes. He's covered in a thin sheen of sweat, but there's clarity in his eyes behind the pain. He knows what he's saying.

"You won't go down for me," I say, shaking my head.

"I won't have to," he says steadily, "but I would if they forced me to."

* * *

"Things moved pretty fast after the fuzz showed up," I say as I set down my contraband beer on the table at Jas's place. "Once Edward vouched for me, they didn't seem to take much more notice of me. In fact, they made it pretty damn clear they wanted me out of the way."

"But it's your apartment!" Jasper exclaimed, leaning forward.

"For now, it's their crime scene," I say, my eyes sliding over to the silent blonde sitting in the corner. "Besides, I think I'll do alright tonight until I can get back in my place."

"You're going to let them take all the credit then," Jasper said, sitting back with a sour expression on his face.

"It's not like that," I say quickly.

"How do you know pretty boy isn't going to just up and take the credit? He's the wounded hero now and you're out of the way. I don't like it, Em."

"He's not like that," I say. "And even if he is, I don't care. Rosie's safe and the truth is finally out about the Evenson case as well."

Alice sat smiling as wide as a cat who just swallowed the canary whole.

"You can say it, gorgeous," I say with a smile and a nod to her. "I know you told me so."

"I'm glad I was right about this one, Em," she says softly. "You look like the weight of the world's been lifted off your shoulders."

Rosie sits curled up in the corner, her face still a mask of disbelief that the whole ordeal is over and she can go back to just being Rosalie Hale again, instead of Rosalie Hale-King, accused murderess. Just when I'm about to ask her if she wants me to take her home, she looks up at me with her blue eyes burning.

"It doesn't feel like a victory, you know?" Her mouth is twisted in an angry smile. "That girl? Royce and all the others hurt her too. Where's her justice?"

"Baby, it wasn't up to her to decide what happens to Royce or any of the others," I say. "She didn't care a lick who her schemes hurt. She was just looking for revenge."

"Still," Rose says with her chin jutted out, "I feel like the city owes her gratitude, not be getting ready to lock her away for twenty to life for what she did."

"Don't you see? She counted on you and Esme to take the blame for those deaths? She didn't care if they hung you for her crimes. She didn't care about you."

"And why should she?" Rose shot back quickly. "No one ever gave a damn about her. You said yourself that Aro would probably disavow even knowing either her or her brother now that she's in custody. So who's going to be there for her?"

"Rose," I say evenly though I feel my temper beginning to flare, "you can't be thinking of getting involved. You have to know how that would look."

"Don't patronize me, Em," she snorts and gets up. "I know my hands are tied. I'm just angry is all."

"Angry at who?" I ask, walking over to where she stands looking out at the darkening sky.

"Everyone. Me for marrying that filth who passed as a man. Royce for breaking that poor girl so badly. You … for being right." She turns around and leans against me, whispering into the folds of my jacket. "Take me home, Em."

* * *

I'm surprised to see Edward and Bella standing at Rose's door the next morning when I open it. I expect to see some uniform because the department called early, but I didn't expect him. His arm is in a sling and Bella has her arm wrapped around his waist like she's afraid if she lets him go he might disappear, but he's there and standing just fine on his own.

"You look like you're looking at a ghost, Em," he says, smiling crookedly. "I didn't get hit that badly."

"Just wasn't expecting to see you up and around so soon."

"He heals quickly," Bella says with a shy smile. "Thank God."

"Rose is getting dressed," I say. "Why don't you come in?"

Once inside, Edward makes himself comfortable on one of the couches and Bella flutters around him until she's sure he's not in pain. He lets her and gives me a small smile behind her back and of course I understand. Rose had been fluttering around me all morning.

"The chief called early this morning," I say when Bella is finally seated. "He said he'd be sending a uniform over to discuss the details of Rose's case. I didn't expect you."

"Well, I asked for a favor," Edward said with a smirk. "I wanted to give you both the good news."

He looks up as Rose appears in the doorway, her face a mask of stiff reserve. I know she's on edge, wondering what the future will hold for her. She doesn't trust the police and I understand her mistrust. But I do trust Edward now. He's more than proven himself to me.

I walk over to Rose and take her hand. It's cold to my touch and I know that she's fearful of what might come from this discussion, but she follows me over to sit across from Edward.

"Ms. Hale, the department is dropping all charges against you," Edward says immediately. "Alec Carrea has confessed to all _three_ killings and the department is drafting up a memoranda to the district attorney of this turn of events. I have it on good authority that the DA will gladly drop the charges against you once the paperwork is complete."

Rose relaxes next to me, but I can't help the snort that escapes me at Edward's words.

"What?" Rose asks immediately. "What's funny?"

"He's the DA's kid," I say, pointing at Edward. "I'll just bet he has it on good authority … probably straight from the horse's mouth. No disrespect meant to your old man, Edward."

"None taken," he says with a smile. "Yes, I have it straight from my father's mouth that as soon as the paperwork it filed, Ms. Hale will no longer be a person of interest in this investigation."

"What about Esme?" I ask, leaning forward.

"He's going to do all he can," Edward says with sigh. "But you know as well as I do that that is a difficult thing to overturn."

"Just as long as he tries," I say. "That poor woman has suffered for too long."

"There's another reason I'm here," he says and takes Bella's hand.

"What's wrong?" I ask, immediately on guard and wondering if the department is going to have questions for me.

"The chief was impressed with your work, Em," he says. "He wants to make amends and offer you a place back on the force."

I look at him levelly for a moment and feel Rose's hand tighten in mine. On the one hand, it'd be like vindication to wear the uniform again with a clean record. But did I want that? Answering to the department again, working alongside all of their prejudices and within their rules … I couldn't imagine it. I _liked_ being my own boss.

"Thanks all the same, but I like my job," I say.

"I kind of thought you might say that," Edward replies with a nod. "I understand your choice, of course, but I can't say I'm not disappointed."

"Disappointed? Why's that?"

"I'd love to call you partner," he says with a laugh.

"Maybe we'll work together again," I say sincerely. "Maybe now the department won't be so quick to write me off."

"I can almost guarantee that," he replies. "If not the department as a whole, _definitely_ me."

* * *

_Alec Carrea was arraigned later in the week by the head DA, Edward Masen. He pled guilty to all charges and was sentenced to life imprisonment for the murders of Royce King, Charles Evenson, and Sam Uley. Dr. Carlisle Cullen stepped forward and offered to pay Esme Platt's legal fees in order to afford her a new trial based on the new evidence. In her new trial, Ms. Platt was found innocent and her record was expunged. She is living quietly in her family home and is visited often by the good doctor. Jane Carrea was charged as an accessory in the murders of King, Evenson, and Uley. She pled not guilty on all charges and an anonymous donor helped her to pay for her legal defense. She was convicted, but her attorney pled her sentence down to twenty years for each victim, with an option to be released on good behavior. It remains to be seen whether or not she is capable of such. Sam's widow was at both of the Carrea trials; when Jane's sentence was announced, she finally cried for her husband. Finally, she felt that her husband's death had been avenged._

_As for Rose and Em … you'll have to wait for the epilogue to find out if they get their happily ever after. ;) Make sure you have the 30 days of Emmett on story alert because the epilogue will be posted there first. My date is December 6__th__. I really hope you've enjoyed this story. Especially, of course, HMonster4, for whom this was written. Much love and thanks for joining me on this journey! ~Jen_


	6. Epilogue

_**Disclaimer:** SM owns Rose and Em and the rest of the Twilight crew. I own a dog-eared copy of The Maltese Falcon which is studied before writing this._

_Thanks so much for reading this story! This is Rose and Em's Happily Ever After._

_

* * *

_

I'm sitting in my living room, stomach bulging with my first child and thinking back on my life with Em. The baby is due any day now and I've been full of nervous energy for the last three days. "Nesting," Mother calls it. Whatever it was, it has eased up for a moment and given me time to just sit and be thankful. Who'd have thought three years ago that I'd have anything to be thankful for?

That man has changed _everything_.

_**I remember our first date…**_

Emmett is full of nervous energy when he shows up at my door. He's dressed to the nines in spats and a pin-striped grey suit. The grey fedora tipped low on his head doesn't hide the thin line of perspiration above his upper lip.

"Emmett McCarty!" I exclaim. "Are you nervous?"

He chuckles bashfully.

"I guess I am," he admits, pulling me close to him.

"Em, what on earth are you nervous about?"

He shrugs and steps away.

"I don't know … I just want to do this right, Rosie."

He walks over to the closet and pulls out my fur wrap. I step into his warm arms as he wraps it around my shoulders.

"Let's go, baby doll," he says quietly. "We have reservations to keep."

He takes me to a swank restaurant someplace uptown. He shouldn't be spending his dough like this and I tell him that. He smirks and shakes his head.

"I just took a rich dame for a lot of money, baby. I want to spend it on my girl."

He makes me laugh in spite of myself. Royce has been dead for under a month and here I am out on the town with the private eye I hired to get me off on murder charges. I shouldn't be laughing; I should be hiding. People are going to talk about me, but I can't seem to make myself care. Em wants to be with me and that's all I want to focus on tonight.

"What a lucky girl I am," I say coquettishly.

"I'm the lucky one," Em says, reaching across the table. "Thanks for giving me a chance, Rosie."

"I should be thanking you," I say, rubbing my thumb over his fingers and noticing how perfectly our hands fit together. "Nothing was tying you to me. Why'd you stick around?"

"Baby, I think you had me wrapped around this little finger from the moment you walked into my office." He holds up my pinky finger for inspection. "Sure. I tried to play it smooth, but I was a marked man. Did you know it?"

"I didn't know much of anything that night," I say, pulling my hands away from his so I can light my fag. "I was trapped and scared. You were my ticket out of that hell, Em; that's all I cared about then."

"And now?" he whispers.

"Now … things are so different I feel like I've lived a few years since that night. I still can't believe that nightmare is behind me."

"It is, Rosie," he said. "And it's never coming back."

He told the truth. He's always kept my past at bay, sheltering me from the demons of my past even when doing so tore him to pieces.

_**I remember our first night together …**_

He holds me after love, the safety of his arms like an invitation to drift into dreamland. I go easily, blissfully unaware of who's waiting for me.

It's Royce.

He's nightmarishly huge. His hot, stinking breath fans over my face as he screams at me over and over that I'm a whore and I'm no more than trash. I thrash and scream, my legs sluggish the way they always are in dreams as I try to run away. I can hear Em but I can't see him. I want to get to him because I know he is safe. He is real. I know, even in my dream, that Em's my reality. Royce isn't real anymore.

Em's large, warm hands are holding my shoulders, anchoring me in the bed we are sharing. Anchoring me in the present. My eyes open and I see him. He's blurry because of my tears, but he's here.

Royce is gone.

Em holds me as I sob for the first time since I found Royce dead. I press my face into the comfort of his shoulder and cry my heart out. He shushes me, stroking my hair, kissing my forehead, and finally loving me until I stop crying. His love heals me and sets me free.

_**I remember our first fight…**_

We're sitting in the back of Jas and Alice's tea house, talking in hushed voices with the cop and his girl. I don't say much. I still don't trust the bronze-haired pretty boy who would have locked me away if Em hadn't seen the truth. But Em likes him, so I don't complain.

The men are talking and the girl and I sit quietly and listen. I can't tell if she's taking anything in, but I hear every word. And I'm livid.

They finally leave and Em and I sit alone drinking tea and smoking.

"So," I say coolly. "Tell me more about Emily."

"It's none of your concern, Rosie," he says with the same bravado he uses with Masen. "Forget about her."

I stub out my cigarette and I look him levelly in the eye. His entire body reacts to the weight of my stare.

"Don't you _tell_ me what my concern is, Emmett McCarty," I seethe. "_Tell_ me more about _Emily_."

He lets out a shaky breath before filling in the holes of her story. She's destitute. Everyone in the Yards knows now what her man was involved in and why he got killed. She's lost all of their respect and all of their help.

"I need to help her," I say, leaning forward.

"Rose, you can't," he says, his head in his hands. "You can't just sweep in there, the widow of a man she blames for her husband's death, and offer her a bunch of dough."

"Why not?" I ask hotly. "She's in need and Royce had a hand in making her that way. Why shouldn't I try to make it better?"

"Because she's just as proud as you, dammit!" he bursts out. "And if you go in there waving cash in her face, she'll spit in your eye and tell you to take your charity somewhere else."

He's panting and flushed in anger. I know I'm deathly white. Fire and ice. And neither of us will ever back down. I smile at him.

"Leah will know what to do," I say.

He stares at me for a moment and then begins to chuckle. Instantly, the tension breaks.

"You're as smart as you are beautiful, you know that?" he asks, shaking his head.

"We can go there today?" I ask.

"Impatient, too," he growls, taking my hand.

But he's smiling and I know we're okay.

_**I remember meeting Leah …**_

I haven't met Leah before we ask for her help with Emily, but I've heard of her. I know she's important to Em; I know he trusts her. I find myself nervous, like I'm meeting a part of his family. I want to make a good impression.

"So you're the one," she says.

Her face is a study in hard and soft: clean, hard lines for her cheeks and nose; softness around her lips and eyes. I smile at her and she weighs me with her eyes.

"I am," I reply.

We regard each other for a few moments before she looks over at Em. She accepts me … for now. Em tells her why we're here and she listens quietly, thoughtfully. It's clear that Leah knows Emily and knows of her situation. When Em finishes, she turns to me.

"Why?" she asks. "Why are you doing this?"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"I mean, why are you giving money to this woman? You don't know her. What is she to you?"

I think about my answer for a moment and then I look at her levelly.

"A sister," I say, holding her eyes steadily with mine.

She looks me over and I feel naked in her gaze. I know she's looking for signs of abuse, but Royce was never that careless. She's just going to have to read between the lines; I trust that she's more than capable.

"Masen," she says, looking away from me to Em. "Have his daddy go to Emily and offer her funds from a trust for victim's families. Have him draw it up in legal-speak and present it officially. Make sure neither of you ever go near her. She'll take it then."

Em nods and I get up, happy to have accomplished my goal. I take Em's arm as he thanks her and she turns back to me.

"Come back in anytime, Ms. Hale," she says with a quiet smile.

It's all the thanks I need.

_**I remember the night he proposed…**_

We're at his apartment in his bed. As many times as I've tried to persuade him to give up the apartment and move into my house, he's refused me. He has "principles," he tells me with his devilish grin. Then he kisses me and I forget to argue with him. Tonight, I start in on him again. I kneel on the bed and I run my fingers through my hair.

"Damn," I sigh. "I forgot my night shirt. You'll have to take me home."

"You can wear one of mine," he says, his eyes hooded as he reaches over and strokes my hip.

"But I don't have fresh clothes for the morning," I pout. "And I didn't bring my toiletries. I'd love to stay, but I just … can't."

He sighs, knowing where I'm going with this.

"It'd be so much _easier_ if we just stayed at the same place all the time." The words are familiar and I say them the same way I've said them eighty times before. I wait, ready to the patent response he always gives me.

"Marry me, Rosie," he whispers.

I'm shocked into speechlessness. It's not that I don't want to hear it. I want it more than anything. I'm just completely unprepared.

"What?" I ask shakily.

"I said 'marry me.'"

He looks up at me, his blue eyes vulnerable, pleading with me to give him the right answer.

"Of course I'll marry you, Em," I reply, cupping his cheek with my hand. "Yes."

He gathers me into his warm, familiar arms and covers my face with kisses, thanking me over and over again. In a rush of whispering covers, he's gone from the bed.

"Where are you going?" I ask with a laugh.

"To get your damn ring," he mutters. "I can't believe I asked you without the damn ring."

I'm laughing so hard I'm crying now, watching him rummage in his drawers, his naked backside facing me. God, he's so beautiful. And he's mine.

Again, I thank God for the twist of fate that brought this man into my life. He rushes back to the bed, holding a box in his hand. It looks tiny in his hand and his face is sheepish.

"If you don't like it, we can go out and get you a new one," he says, still holding it tightly in his hand. "This is just … it's special to me."

He opens the box slowly and I stare, speechless again, at a ring too beautiful to be new. I can see immediately it's an heirloom. It's either silver or platinum with a single diamond in the center. Blue sapphires frame the stone.

"Do you like it, Baby?" he asks.

"It's perfect," I whisper, holding out my hand to him.

His fingers shake as he puts the ring on my finger and then he pulls me close.

"I was so afraid it wouldn't be enough," he mumbles into my hair.

I pull back and look at him.

"Why wouldn't it be enough?" I ask him.

"It's not fancy and it's old."

"You know me better than that," I say with a frown. "This is part of you and your past, isn't it?"

"It's my grandmother's," he admits, looking down.

I grab his chin in my fingers and make him look at me.

"There is no part of your life that isn't enough for me, do you understand?" I say sincerely.

"I always wonder why, Rosie. We come from two different worlds … I'm always amazed when I realize that you want me."

I turn over and fit myself into his arms so he's spooning me. My head is cradled on his shoulder and his arms surround me.

"Me too, Baby," I say, a tear rolling out of my eye. "You amaze me, too."

_**I remember our first Christmas …**_

We're surrounded in wrapping paper, the house smelling of good things, and Em is holding me on the couch while we talk about the upcoming wedding. We're pulled out of our reverie by the phone ringing. Em kisses me on the forehead and tells me to relax.

I hear his deep baritone voice as he picks up the phone with a merry greeting. My body is relaxed and my mind is at ease. But when I hear the change in his voice, immediately I'm on alert. Something is happening.

I sit up and strain to hear him, but it's impossible. All I can hear is the familiar cadence of his voice as it rises and falls in his conversation. I hear him end the conversation and then I hear the sound of him dialing quickly. I wonder who he's calling. The pitch of his voice is raised, almost excited. Again, I wonder what is going on and whether his excitement is good or bad.

When he walks back into the room, his expression surprises me. He looks relieved.

"Who was it, Em?" I ask, my voice betraying my nervousness.

"I know we planned to stay in, Rosie," he says with a smile. "But do you think we could go out? Something amazing has happened."

"Of course," I say, standing up. "Can you tell me what's going on, because honestly, you have me a little spooked."

He chuckles and walks over to me, enveloping me in his warm, spicy scent. I can feel his happiness radiating through his embrace.

"Don't be spooked, Baby," he says quietly. "It's the best gift anyone could have given me. That was Edward. Esme Platt is finally being released from prison."

I pull back with a gasp.

"That _is_ amazing!" I say, touching his face. "Who did you call?"

"A friend."

His face is lighter, as though finally he had let go of his guilt.

We show up at the jail at the same time as Edward and Bella. An older version of Edward is standing with them and I guess that is the great Tony Masen, DA. I internally chastise myself for the sarcasm. The man had worked tirelessly to get Esme off. I should be thankful for his work. Still, there was residual angst from when he was fighting to put _me_ behind bars.

After we gathered in the waiting room, the doors open behind us again. A tall, thin man I had never seen before walks into the room and looks nervously around. Em and Edward exchange a look before both walking over to him.

"Dr. C.," Em says, holding out his hand. "Merry Christmas and thanks for coming."

"Merry Christmas indeed," the doctor replies. "Thank you for calling me, Emmett."

The doctor shakes Edward's hand next.

"Are you the young man responsible for getting her released?" the doctor asks Edward.

"No," Edward says, shaking his head. "That'd be my dad, Mr. Masen."

Edward turns and gestures to his father.

"Dad, this is Dr. Cullen. He provided funds for Ms. Platt's defense."

Mr. Masen walks over and shakes Dr. Cullen's hand. The doctor seems awkward, unused to being around so many people and I begin to wonder what his specialty is that he seems so nervous. Em walks back over to my side and winds his arm around my waist.

"Dr. C., I want you to meet my fiancée," he says with a proud smile. "Ms. Rosalie Hale."

I let Em lead me over to the doctor who is smiling out me broadly.

"Rosie, Dr. C. gave me a lot of help in solving your case," Em says quietly.

"Thank you, Dr. Cullen. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine, my dear," he says, taking my hand.

Just as he is about to speak again, a door behind us opens and one of the smallest, most fragile women I've ever seen walks into the room. She seems to shrink in upon herself when she sees the gathered crowd. I know immediately that this is Esme Platt. Even if I hadn't known who to expect, I would have known by the relief I see plastered on Em's face. Finally, he has been avenged.

"Esme," Dr. Cullen breathes, removing his hand from mine and walking over to the woman.

It's clear the good doctor is smitten with the woman, but I watch anxiously as he approaches the nervous woman. I expect her to cower in front of him, but instead her face lights up. It's not him that has her frightened; it's the rest of us.

"Come on, Em," I say quietly. "Let's leave them alone."

I leave that night with a different man, a man whose past no longer haunts him. When he makes love to me that night, I know just how much the demons of the past had been affecting him and how much freer he is now that the past is finally resolved.

_**I remember our wedding …**_

Our wedding is small. Not because people wouldn't come, but because there are very few people we really want there. Em's parents came from Tennessee, and surprisingly my parents came from Rochester. When Mother showed up at the house, I pulled her into my arms as though she might disappear before my very eyes.

"_Of course we came, dearheart," she whispered as she held me. "You're our daughter."_

I stand at the back of the church wearing a simpe ivory dress without a veil. Mother wished I would make more of a to-do, but Em and I don't want to gum up the works with formality. Today is about getting married, not about hosting a big wedding.

"Do you, Emmett McCarty, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in richer and in poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," Emmett boomed without any hesitation.

There were a few chuckles from our gathered friends and family, but Emmett just stared lovingly back at me. So much is different today than it was when I married Royce and I realize in that moment that the differences are what make it so right.

_**The present …**_

Emmett is in the kitchen when the first pain comes. I'm sitting in my rocking chair and the pain hits me as I'm leaning forward with the chair. It's blindingly clear to me what is beginning and I cry out Em's name in terror.

He's by my side in an instant, his large hands covering mine on the arms of the chair and his forehead pressed against mine.

"Breathe, my Rosie," he's whispering. "Shhh, just breathe. I'm here."

And that makes everything okay.

The pains continue steadily and when they get to be too much, we call Alice and Bella, my two unexpected gifts that life with Em has given me. We call my women and they come to help me deliver this baby.

Things happen quickly once they are there and I almost lose myself in the whirlwind of confusion that swirls around me in anticipation of the birth. White towels and basins of water, tea and soothing words surrounded me. Luckily, Em is hard to lose in any crowd and he has always been what grounds me. Even when Alice and Bella try to push him out of the room, he stands firm, holding my hand because he knows I need him.

Through the pain, he is there. Through the screaming, he is there. Through the moments when I think I'm not going to make it, he is there holding my hand, telling me that I can do it. In the end, he wraps himself around our beautiful daughter and me, whispering how proud he is of me and how much he loves us.

And I know that his love will always be my saving grace.

*o*O*o*

**_A/N:_**_ And so concludes this episode of The McCarty Files. I want to thank each and every one of you for reading this short story. I didn't think I'd ever get into writing Em, but looking back, I can't imagine any other character in the role of the PI. He just fit perfectly. I want to thank Emerald Star73, Swimom7, and Bookjunkie1975 for reading these chapters and giving me the encouragement I needed to write this story. I want to especially thank HMonster4 for taking a chance on someone who'd never written Em in the FGB auctions. This story, I think, has really honed my skills as a writer. I have the ultimate respect now for anyone who writes mystery. It is not as easy as John Grisham makes it look, but it is just as rewarding. I hope you have enjoyed this story. If you have, please leave me some love? It would make my day. :) ~Jen_


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